To Muddy a Malfoy
by foggybythebay
Summary: Grieving over Ron's snogging of Lavender, Hermione discovers that it takes just one certain Slytherin to boost her flagging ego. A single night in a deserted corridor launches a thoroughly sensual game of cat-and-mouse that outlasts even the war HG/DM
1. To Muddy a Malfoy

**To Muddy a Malfoy**  
_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_

Rated: M, sexual content and coarse language. You've been warned.

* * *

_I'm sick and tired of being overlooked as the good one, the smart one, the sensible one_, thought Hermione finding herself alone again in the room since Harry's departure at spotting Ginny in the corridor. Hermione forlornly glanced about the now abandoned room.

_No one's ever going to want to kiss me,_ she thought miserably._ I could be the last female on earth and..._

Hermione had just about had enough of herself crying over the horrifying image replaying in her head of Ron Weasley wetly snogging that slag, Lavender Brown. She tried calming herself by reciting the Kubler-Ross model of the five stages of grief, urging herself to move to, and stay at, the stage where she's just fighting mad.

_Stop skipping over the anger, that's the second step! _she scolded herself. _Don't just jump to sadness, yet, _she pleaded. In an attempt to aid her efforts, she relived the memory of launching her enchanted canaries at that obnoxious, red-headed weasel's head.

She smiled.

Even so, a renegade, tell-tale tear, slid down her cheek.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, another set of eyes watched her from the shadows.

Draco Malfoy had been keeping an eye on Hermione since she stormed out of Gryffindor tower, crying and sniveling. He'd been on his way to the Room of Requirement to complete his tireless task for the Dark Lord, but was side-tracked by the humor of seeing the bushy-haired form, bowed in some sort of despair. Curious, he covertly followed her to an empty area of the castle, and settled in the shadows to await whatever further drama would unfold. He was hoping for an even more hurtful opening through which he could pounce and make her feel far worse than she already did.

About to step out of the hidden alcove to just cause her further irritation, Draco stopped short of the shadows as she performed some surprisingly delightful magic with some conjured canaries. The innocence of the charm mesmerized him. Draco followed their flitting and flying with an uncharacteristic half-smile before realizing he'd strayed from his original intent with Granger. In only a few short moments, he'd manage to recover himself and his cocky demeanor, ready to proceed with his plan to kick her while she was down. But just as he was going to make himself known, Potter stepped into the room.

Draco frowned as he watched his rival, this tall, bespectacled, brown-haired boy sit beside the Mudblood. He watched as Potter let her lean into him as he crooned words of comfort. All the while, the canaries continued to flit and chirp about them. Draco witnessed Granger desperately grab at the boy's robes, burying her bushy head against him. He was confused why Potter didn't take advantage of this heroic role since the scene was classic damsel in distress. And wouldn't it be beneficial to both? So far as he could tell, Granger couldn't seem to decide which of her Gryffindor bodyguards she fancied more.

It was somewhat intriguing to be audience to The-One-Who-Will-Not-Die petting the sobbing Mudblood, all the while looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else but there. Curiously, Draco took a closer look at Granger, who raised her head to discover Potter preoccupied. He noticed her little frown when the idiot beside her moved aside, nearly allowing her to topple to the floor. The sadness in Granger's face was absolutely revolting to watch. Draco was used to seeing her face screwed up in fervent anger, not anything so weak and pathetic as anguish. He was of the mind to tell her so when he was greeted with a new and different twist to this delightful drama.

As he pulled his foot back into the darkness, Draco observed Weasel, holding hands with that Brown girl, stroll into the room whispering and giggling madly.

_Ah, so that was it! Granger was in a jealous snit. How droll!_

The couple ground to a halt at realizing Potter and Granger were in the room. Draco was confident that Granger would now pull Potter into a passionate snog to retaliate, but instead, there were only a few heated words exchanged, mostly from Granger. Weasel looked completely flummoxed. This seemed to incense Granger who then sent her enchanted canaries on a full-flight attack of that ginger-haired blood traitor.

It was all Draco could do to stop himself from guffawing aloud. She might be Muggle-born, but she was always a clever one with her wand. After Weasel beat a hasty retreat, it appeared that Potter had had enough of comforting the Mudblood. Draco noticed Scarface had since spotted the young, female Weasel in the hall. In Draco's eyes, Potty's unceremonious dumping of his best friend could not have been timed more perfectly, since it presented him with the opportunity to taunt the already downtrodden girl.

The glistening tear on her face prompted him forward.

The room had turned quiet now without the sounds of the happy chirping canaries. Hermione was a little sad at their absence, but there was some comfort in the solitude. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone for very long. The sound of soft leather against the cobblestone floor told her senses exactly who had the audacity to approach her now.

"Well, well, if it isn't Granger," came an indolent drawl from above her.

Hermione glowered at the silhouetted figure, despising the intrusion of _this_ Slytherin.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I wanted to see what all that incessant wailing was about," he sneered malevolently, "I'm a bit perturbed that I wasn't the cause of it. So, I came here to remedy the situation."

Hermione stared at his mocking, silver eyes and something inside her snapped. This bleach-blond arsehole was just like all the bullies at home, and she'd had her fair share of them. Tonight, she was determined to get the upper hand once and for all. She grabbed onto her wand and stalked right up to him. He seemed quite startled, even a bit fearful, of her approach.

As any bully, Hermione knew that a full frontal confrontation would be enough to send him slithering away into his hole, exactly like the loathsome snake that he was. She knew first hand that bullies couldn't take what they themselves dished out. Malfoy chose the wrong night to pick on this witch. She was in the right frame of mind for this verbal duel, too. This time, she had all her infuriated wits about her and she was going to make sure that it wouldn't come to blows... or hexes. She wanted him humiliated in the most Muggle way possible.

"I see. Well, I can assure you there's absolutely nothing you can do, Malfoy, to make it any worse," she calmly replied, though beneath this placid demeanor, she seethed.

She halted her approach only when her body was so close that her robes brushed against his. She hadn't realized she'd raised her wand and that he was, surprisingly, still unarmed. She watched his gaze go wide at her threatening stance. His nostrils flared as she shot him a most venomous look. A flicker of dread glinted back at her in his steely gaze. She wanted desperately to cackle at him.

The whole infuriating evening had brought her to this, and she could now revel in the dark power of having someone cowering because of her. It was precisely the thing to have Malfoy doing the cowering for once. Never mind that he was a full head taller. She was smarter and a more powerful witch than this sorry excuse of a pureblood, biggoted wizard. She was tired of being the victim and now, right now, she could do something about it. For once, her soft heart did not get in the way of her wrath. She'd had enough!

Hermione's rage had the tip of her wand sparking. Her hair was wild as ever, and he saw this recklessness reflected in her unrelenting examination of him. The coiled tension in his gut wouldn't leave him, the danger she represented, her nearness, made him taut, ready to take flight or fight. His instincts for self preservation kept him silent and motionless.

In her fury, Hermione continued her quiet stalking of him, forcing him back against the wall as she pushed her body up against his. She found his repugnant scowl further inflamed her temper. Yet, he seemed shocked, as though she'd _stupified_ him. She wanted desperately to hex that insufferable mouth right off his smug, pointy face.

While Draco had had his share of Hogwarts females and then some, he had never been this close to _this_ Mudblood before and the taboo proximity was more than unnerving. Even when she'd slapped him when they were younger, he'd never felt her heated breath against his cheek, or felt her heaving pent-up frustration bumping up against him at every turn as he did now. Already hypersensitive, the feel of her put Draco on sensory overload. He reeled at the touch of her every curve and softness against him, it drove him to the brink of madness. She rubbed herself against him again, and Draco wondered idly if she had the slightest idea what she was doing to him._ Merlin, if she knew._

He gulped.

The air was thick around them and she could feel his ragged breathing ruffle the hair at the top of her head. She had the sudden realization she'd never been this close to a boy, even a Gryffindor boy, in her whole entire life. More shocking was the discovery that the feeling of being against a boy, even_this_ boy, wasn't altogether unpleasant.

"What else do you want, Malfoy?" she sneered contemptuously, poking her wand at his acuminous chin.

His eyes unfocused, Draco didn't respond. In an attempt to shock him into speech, she managed to surprise even herself with her hint of indecency.

"Oh, I see, Malfoy. So, you've come to play in the mud?"

Her sultry voice washed over him. Draco's mind went blank at her words. Never, could he have imagined that this insipid bibliophile would speak so raunchily. He watched Granger cock her head at him in question, her brown eyes, ablaze with detestation, mocking him. She rubbed up against him again and to his mortification, he heard a strangled sound come from his own throat.

Hermione watched him close his eyes, but not before she saw a flash of _something_ else.

_Interesting_...

"No? Cat got your tongue, Malfoy?"

Hermione couldn't fully comprehend the lack of verbal comebacks from Malfoy, but she found it amusing that he was so tongue-tied. This gave her a shot of courage, while his clear confusion at her Muggle idiom about the cat and tongue added more tinder to the flames of hatred she had for this boy - well, a man now, just like her own two wretched friends.

The thought of those two snogging_ other _girls at this moment pushed Hermione over the very edge of her sanity, allowing her to continue mercilessly torturing the cockroach at the end of her wand. Combined with the harsh sound of Malfoy's breathing and the feel of his chest rising and falling against her, Hermione was loosing her grip.

"What do you want?!" she shouted, the blast of her breath from her body loosened some of his blond locks, which fell onto his forehead.

Still nothing, but his heavily aroused breathing, a tightening of the muscles at his jaw, and an audible gasp anytime she shifted against him.

She felt empowered by the sounds coming from Malfoy. They all added up in her very intelligent Muggle-born brain to a sum that equalled her having some possession of feminine powers - the very ones that she'd thought only moments ago completely lost to her. Half to herself, she murmured, "Well, let me see if I can make it out for myself, then."

She needed to prove something to herself and she needed someone precisely like Malfoy, renowned Slytherin Sex God, to do it.

With brash intent, she brushed her chest against Draco's arm and was delighted to feel his whole body stiffen. Hermione smiled and lowered her wand. Draco still didn't move, he was reciting something that had his lips moving very quickly. She couldn't quite hear them.

_Names, perhaps, of the players on the Slytherin Quidditch team? Strange. Certainly not a spell, though, _Hermione decided. She continued to note that his eyes, half-closed, were warily trained on her.

She increased her body contact with Malfoy, daring him to push her off, or to truly open his eyes and look at her. Her next words shocked even herself.

"I bet you like it dirty," she whispered huskily, nipping at the lower part of his earlobe with her teeth.

His response was a gurgle at the back of his throat.

Pleasure or pain?

Unsure, but desirous to know, Hermione went against any good judgement she previously possessed before seeing Ron snog Lavender, and purposely placed her hand on his robes, between her sworn enemy's legs.

Her eyes widened at feeling him tighten and grow impossibly large beneath her palm. She looked at Malfoy's face, twisted in exquisite agony while a soft growl of pleasure escaped him. Something akin to triumphant glee burst within her. It was addictive, this immensely satisfying feeling of power to be able to bring _him_ to his knees this way.

At this moment, she felt like a very, very wicked witch.

"Accio, Malfoy's wand," she purred in his ear, knowing her tone would summon a very different kind of hardness to her hand. Malfoy's barely stifled moan did delicious things to her insides.

_This was unconscionable, perverted, even._

Draco, couldn't take his eyes off of the witch who was doing licentious things to his body. He even silently admired her for what looked like a malicious, though sensual, smile playing at her lips while she felt his traitorous body react to her sinful words.

_Unthinkable_.

"And look at that, I didn't have to cast either the _Duro_ or the _Engorgio_ charms to do it," said her saucy voice against his ear. Her wanton words nearly unleashed Malfoy's barely banked, impassioned fury at being so played. The wet heat of her breath teased his most sensitive spot on the side of his neck, however, keeping him in check to her charms. He kept very still. Unsure of himself.

She laughed softly at his frustration, rubbing his arousal a bit more with her hand, watching his eyes glaze over. She thrilled at his reaction, relishing how his eyes rolled upward, elated to hear a groan escape his foul mouth.

"So are you going to do anything about this, Malfoy?" She challenged tartly, increasing her pressure, hinting at gripping him. But these ministrations from Hogwarts' Golden Gryffindor Girl, legendary bookworm, left Draco struck dumb, as though hexed with both the Silencing and the Body-Bind Curses.

At last, she released him, shrugging, sliding her hand against the front of his robe with a sad, disappointed sigh. Stepping to the beat of his harsh intakes of breath, she moved to the door's archway. Hermione turned once to face him before departing.

"Such a shame, Malfoy, I thought _you_, out of the lot of them, would be up to the task." Her eyes flashed hungrily at the yearning, but hesitant look thrown at her by the silver-eyed Slytherin. "It's disappointing to yet again find another Hogwarts man who doesn't know what to do when it's all but staring him straight in the face."

The last he saw of Granger was the swish of her robe against the empty arch of the door.


	2. To Grapple With Granger

_Many months after their first encounter in a darkened alcove in Hogwarts castle..._

She magically fell from the ceiling. Or at least that's what it seemed like to him.

* * *

**Minutes before this thought enters his brain...**

_

* * *

_

Believing himself quite brilliant at having discovered a way to access the Restricted Section undetected, Draco Malfoy grins under what he considers one of his most cleverly cast disillusionment charms to date.

He gingerly steps into the permit-only portion of the Hogwarts Library, eluding both Filch and his pesky cat, to find a book that might help him solve the problem of the still broken Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. Immediately he senses there's something amiss. His silver grey eyes, having already grown accustomed to the darkness, scan the silent room where there appears to be no one else about. He breathes in the comforting scent of worn parchment before looking up to view a sight still awe-inspiring despite the many times he's managed to finagle a pass from Snape to enter this less trodden area. He knows the shelves in this part of the Restricted Section tower several stories high. A stained glass window lets in only wispy fingers of moonlight, adding a dramatic effect to the already impossible height of the bookcases. He's often wondered if Mdm. Pince requires her broomstick to replace books and keep things in general order at the topmost shelves. To his chagrin, no ready ladder is available and he already knows he needs to get to the highest heights for what he seeks.

He steps further into the silent darkness, coming quite close to a back shelf when something above catches his attention. Nothing visible, just a series of sounds, the quiet thud of a book being closed, a slightly perturbed exhalation, and the familiar mellow scraping of leather-bound texts rubbing against one another.

He looks up.

There is nothing.

_How peculiar_.

Suddenly, a whooshing above his head has him ducking for cover, another strange breeze blows past him and up. A short, horrified feminine shriek pierces the air. He feels another gust of wind where there should be none, a clatter of what sounds like a broomstick hitting the far wall, and a tingling sixth sense warning him that something else quite weighty was succumbing to gravity very very near him.

Instinctively he holds out his arms. In the stray moment of waiting, Draco wonders if he's adopting this stance to protect himself or doing something so incredibly unlikely as to actually reach out to protect an unknown other. He pushes the idle thoughts away for more practical ones. He braces himself for the moment of impact and catches... a lush bottom.

_Well...well.. _he smirks, _what a bounty._

He clutches the invisible body to himself. Unseen arms reach to grasp tightly around his neck_. _He discovers the reward of gently sloping hills pressing against the hard planes of his chest.

_Softness in all the right places._

The welcome surprise of finding himself with an armload of feminine curves evaporates his focus on maintaining the Disillusionment Charm and in the darkness of the Restricted Section, Draco Malfoy stands completely visible while holding a still-concealed girl in his arms.

_Amazing_, he gloats inwardly, _even when not on the prowl, nicely built birds still fall from the sky and quite literally land in my lap._

"Lumos," she whispers.

A shocked gulping breath escapes her and the light winks out before he can discover her identity. She doesn't scream, nor does she melt against him. Suddenly, without uttering a sound, she begins pushing herself away, trying frantically to free herself from his grasp.

Dismay.

_Curious, this has never happened before._

All thoughts of looking for a dusty tome to aid in his dark task fly right out of his head. Draco's brows knit, and his lips curl in a habitual half smile as he contemplates his next move. He helps her to standing, but keeps her within his embrace. And just to be contrary, when he hears her relieved breathy sigh at his retreat, he closes in to hold her again. She pushes hard, battling the strength of his arms.

"Easy, love," he croons. "No need to fight."

She continues to smack her palms helplessly against his chest and in retaliation, he firms his grip on her. Her twisting has one of Draco's hands accidentally cupping the under curve of her breast. He lets out a pleased sigh at feeling her fit so perfectly in his palm. Unthinking, he lifts her feminine swell to discover its more than satisfying weight. Absently rubbing a thumb against its peak, it hardens and pebbles beneath the pad of his thumb.

"Perfect," he whispers seductively. She'd gone still again, seeming to have lost the ability to breathe.

At her silence, Draco's other hand impertinently squeezes the firm roundness of her arse. He smiles at her outraged squeal.

Seeing nothing but darkness, her tiny flash of light having all but blinded him, Draco now relies only on his senses of hearing and touch to guide his progress. His sexy smile slips from his mouth when he feels her helplessly batting her hands against him.

He considers stopping.

To give her some reprieve, the wizard moves his hand from her derriere to splay against the small of her back, stilling her momentarily, while keeping her close. He silently curses his conscience for making an untimely appearance. Apparently, some lines still exist that this Slytherin is unwilling to cross. Forcing himself upon unwilling witches appears to be one of them.

The slight loosening of his grip seems to give her what she needs to regain her senses. He can hear and feel her roughly exhaled breath.

This sound stirs him in ways too disturbing to begin contemplating.

"Let go, please," she whimpers frustratedly, the voice is familiar but he's unable to pinpoint why.

"No," he says curtly, ever the spoiled prat. He is distracted. There's something covering her that he is unable make heads or tails of. It's some sort of magical material, but like nothing he's ever touched before. Trying to grab at the very essence of it is as elusive as trying to grip water from a running tap.

Already of the mind to release her, Draco unleashes some of his pent up frustration at the growing pressure between his legs by grinding his hardened arousal against the juncture of this mystery girl's thighs. With his fingers ready to let go, he suddenly halts all movement at the sound of her unexpected moan. He is pleasantly surprised to discover that she is restlessly moving against him in response to his blatant sexual stimulation. Her needy whimper is like tinder to a flame and Draco can not fight the siren's call to pull her flush against him. His eyes open wide at the feel of her jutting nipples pressing against him.

"Like that, do you?" he inquires huskily. With one hand at the curve of her back and the other wrapped around her, holding her near, Draco can feel how his sensuous words send tremors through her body and how she virtually melts into his arms. "Yes, it appears that you do."

His fingers meander their way back toward her heavenly peaks. The still unknown girl seems to have again lost the ability to breathe. At the feel of an uninvited tweak, she is again able to fill her lungs with a gulping breath. Along with it, she also rediscovers the ability to move.

Having been so caught up in the novelty of feeling up this still-shrouded, curvy witch, Draco hadn't felt the lethal pull back of her throwing arm.

THWACK!

His head was spinning. He would know the source of that ear-ringing slap anywhere.

_Granger._

_He'd been unknowingly consorting with a mudblood! And not just ANY mudblood, The Mudblood! _

He didn't know whether to rejoice or retch.

"How dare you!" she shrieks, yanking off the sinewy material and stuffing it somewhere in her robes. Her outrage prompts him to ignore his restless body still clamoring to touch her. He chooses instead to claim the immature Slytherin reflex to taunt her into submission.

"It is far too late to protest your indifference, Granger," he intones huskily, purposely brushing himself closer to her. "I already know that you want me..._desperately_."

Thankful for the darkness, Hermione feels the blush bloom on her cheeks as Malfoy's robes rub against hers. She can almost feel the woolly rasp of the fabric of his front sliding against her own. How many nights had she stayed up relishing the delicious thrill of having pushed Malfoy up against the wall, the look of his lowered lids hiding his twisted emotions for her, trying to will away a desire for her? That reality had taken place so many months ago that now it seemed only a dream. So, to covertly confirm _this_ reality, she again inches herself toward him, convincing herself she means to make a point, not to rub up against him like some cat in heat.

Her eyes widen.

There is no mistaking his arousal now.

"No, Malfoy," she says, an age-old smile lifting the corners of her lips, the lost sensation of feminine power again within her grasp. Its fleeting presence gives her the courage to push back, her body flush against the hard evidence between them. "I believe it's you_, Malfoy,_ who wants _me_."

With eyes at last adjusted to the darkness, she catches the quicksilver flash in his chrome-colored eyes, reacting to her brazen retort.

Her sultry smile slips.

Faster than Harry in pursuit of the snitch, Malfoy rushes at her, closing the already infinitesimal distance between, pinning her hands above her head. Strong fingers bind her wrists.

"I will not give you the benefit of a Silencio, Granger," he growls roughly, his eyes boring into her, his free hand at her jaw. Instinctively she bucks against him, fighting his hold, but his grip remains, holding her captive despite her protests. "By the end of this, you'll be crying out in your want for me."

He watches her tighten her lips, eye ablaze with outrage. Her chin juts out in trademark stubborn bookworm fashion, daring him to make good with his threat.

"So, Mudblood, let's see exactly who it is who wants the other more," his voice holds a dangerous edge, her dark eyes harden at the sound of it. She's never heard the tone from him before, this desire to assert his power so absolutely. Her pride kicking in, she does not move, determined not to show any emotion. All she does is wait and when he does nothing more than stand far too close to her while still keeping her in his grips she forces words from her mouth.

"Why, Malfoy?"

"Why?" she can hear the silent jeer in his gruff voice, "Because you are forbidden. Very few things are to me. _Untouchable_—"

He surprises her with his gentle caress which slides down her throat, stopping to measure her frantic, fluttering pulse. His spicy scent envelops her. She expects a punishing grope where he gives her gentleness. It is unnerving for her this discordant behavior that does not match his cruel words. She tries desperately to reject the feelings he is giving rise to in her body, fighting valiantly against releasing a moan.

"Then don't touch me, you pureblooded bastard!" she hisses, still attempting to twist out of his hold. With clenched jaw, he grabs up his wand with his free hand and impatiently points it high, where her hands are wrapped in his clenched grip.

"Incarcerous."

The binding spell is met with a plethora of choice and colorful curses from Hermione's lips as her squirming only serves to tighten the invisible cords at her wrists.

"Filthy—" he admonishes shaking his head at her, his body a hair's breath away. His hand cups her chin, fingers and thumb dig into her cheeks.

"Then don't dirty yourself," she retorts angrily. She would have spat at him had her mouth not gone dry in her attempts to hide how truly frightened she was by his aggression.

"—mouth, Granger. Filthy, filthy mouth," he finishes quietly, ignoring her, speaking in a tone that sends shivers down her spine.

He watches her pupils widen and the brown of her irises darken to near obsidian. Draco's gaze moves to her mouth, from which she'd announced her absolute disgust with him only moments ago. He leans in and brushes a finger near the corner of her lips.

_A gasp._

"Don't!" she cries in a horrified whisper as though still mindful of being in a library. She sharply turns her face away from the raw emotion of his gaze and the flare of heat in her belly at his light touch. For a moment she thought he meant to steal her first kiss.

"What, Granger?" he chuckles darkly, his face only millimeters from hers. "Don't... _remove an ink stain from your face_?"

She closes her eyes on a mortified groan, knocking the back of her head against the books on the shelf. He still binds her, but does nothing else than stand close enough to titillate.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" she asks exasperatedly, most uncomfortable at being so forcibly stretched out.

"I should ask you the same, Granger," he replies, pulling away slightly. She forces herself not to sway toward the heat of him. "Are you merely a cocktease? Is that why Potty and Weasel hang so closely to you despite having more willing bints on their arms? Are they hoping to someday get a piece of the untainted saint?"

It could have almost been a compliment, _this last part_, she thought, if he hadn't spoken with such contempt.

"I'm not," she argues tersely. "It's only _you_ who acts this way when you're around me." She looks up at him to find herself again being touched by Malfoy, his hand at her waist, the other grasping the nape of her neck, his lower body pressing into hers. He appears surprised at his closeness, as though he had no knowledge of having moved thus.

She feels the weight of his hand slide up from her waist. Her breath catches and her eyes flutter closed at the wondrous foreign feel of being stroked this way. His silver gaze watches unbelievably at her abandoned pleasure at his petting, like a pleased feline.

_How can something so beautifully responsive be of impure birth?_ he wonders.

His hand moves with deliberation to again possessively close around her proud breast, wishing to incite her anger. With her verbalized abhorrence he can hate her, too. Though her eyes flash, her lips stubbornly clamp together. She says nothing and her lack of fiery insults infuriates him.

"What's wrong, Granger, kneazel got your tongue?"

He thought she would reward him with disdain for his mutation of her muggle quip. He'd been bothered when she's used her foreign words to befuddle him during their last encounter. It was the first thing he researched and commanded as his own afterwards. Tonight, she only half-chuckles in appreciation of his efforts.

_This was maddening._

He believed he'd gained the upper hand with her but the tables somehow turned and he felt himself under her spell— again.

_Unacceptable_.

Mesmerized, he witnesses her lift unconsciously toward his stroking hand, openly giving herself over to the feelings he inspired in her with his touch. He wondered at his ability to make her feel this intensely aroused, for he felt her hardened tips even through the thickness of her school robes. How could she respond this way despite her intense disgust for him? Curiously, he looks to her face, eyes closed, shallow breaths coming from behind a gnawed bottom limp, the streaks of colored moonlight from the stained-glass bathe her in an other-worldly glow. _Ravishing_.

_I'm doing this to her, making her feel this way,_ he thinks, shocked by the sheer masculine power of it. Despite his history with girls, never has foreplay felt so _right_.

He pulls away from her, suddenly frightened of the feelings rioting inside of him. Never has the desire to take been so all-consuming, never has he known such ache, and never _ever_ has he had the equal desire to give such passion in return.

The thought nearly stops his heart.

Draco halts all movements, thoroughly disturbed, wildly trying to regain his senses. He hesitates a moment before stepping away from the temptation of her. And in that moment of hesitation, despite her earlier curses and intents to keep her emotions bottled from him, Hermione decides she does indeed want the Ferret. She internally curses the mutiny of her body's refusal to listen to the strictures of her mind. And just as her passion blooms, despite her keen revulsion for Malfoy, she dislikes even more how her skin turns suddenly cool, no longer heated by his touch. Unthinking, she squirms ever closer, silently begging for his continued caress.

And he watches.

_Musn't,_ he warns himself, longing to give in to her urgent appeal to touch and feel.

This game has gone on too long. The loathing he thought he had for this girl somehow turned itself inside out with her touch, leaving Draco to wonder only at its immense power and strength.

_Passion or hatred?_

The needy whimper she makes is his eventual undoing. He again gathers her close, dropping his head to her shoulder, touching his cool lips to her heated neck. He murmurs something she cannot understand, but the touch of his mouth against her skin has her swiftly drawing in her breath. With the sound of her pleasure, he forcefully pulls her into his embrace, curious to see her response.

Arms still above her head, her body melts into his.

He groans unintelligibly and leans back to open her robe, ever watchful of any sign that she does not desire his touch, his hands stop their ministrations, forcing her to make eye contact.

"Say it," he rasps, his eyes molten metal. "Tell me what I want to hear."

Her eyes snap open, wild with want, awareness dawning. Draco lies somewhere between fear and hope that she will demand a stop to this insanity. She moves her chest more closely toward him, still silent.

"Say it, Granger," he demands, threatening to pull away all together. Outright refusal glints in her gaze, but something else more powerful glazes over her initial response.

"Please, Malfoy," she at last strangles the words from her throat. "Don't go. I want... I want..."

Triumphantly, he quickly opens her robe, revealing a row of prim buttons beneath. Draco's fingers pluck at them, playing a sonata on her chest. Slowly, with mind-numbing patience, he opens her blouse just enough to reach in and discover dainty, silky lace. With the deftness of one practiced, he releases the front fastenings of her bra. He stops to behold the beauty before him. And before either can think of the repercussions, Draco bows his head. Hermione gasps at the liquid heat of his silken tongue surrounding her taut nipple. Her body instantly pushes into him, greedily demanding more. When he does not comply, to his great shock and to her utter dismay, he finds himself wrapped around the waist by her long, slender legs.

An eyebrow rises.

_Granger. Such a surprise._

A flush of pleasure rushes through him, but he shows none of it. His hand travels between them, where their joining would have long ago occurred had it not been for the obstacle of their clothing. He gathers up her robe to find the treasure beneath. At the juncture of her legs, he rubs a thumb across her silk covered core. He watches her teeth catch the plumpness of her bottom lip, stalling an impassioned plea.

Hot and moist. So inviting.

So wrong.

_Danger!_ his mind roars, remembering the new mark on his arm.

With a deep, fortifying breath he straightens mechanically. Her legs, wrapped at the ankle to encase him, slide past his slim hips. He moves out of their intimate embrace, suddenly cool and distant. Her feet drop awkwardly to the floor. He looks at her, breasts still revealed, hair wild and unruly, robe ruched up one lean, bare leg— the sight of her wanton and wanting.

Showing none of his pained reluctance to go, he steps away, just out of reach. She makes a small sound of protest, it pinches at his insides. He does not flinch.

Her arms reach for him.

After two heartbeats she looks from his silent presence, then confusedly down at her wrists.

_Free._

_For how long?  
_

"So now we know," he sneers cruelly at her, "just who it is who wants the other more."

He steps back once again, silently merging into the darkness behind him.

* * *

Just put up a poll on my profile regarding how you think this one should end! Go and vote!

This chapter dedicated to _jenniluz, _and all the other reviewers who prompted the emergence of another naughty plot bunny from its burrow.


	3. To Seduce A Slytherin

**To Seduce a Slytherin**

**

* * *

**

She couldn't face Potions class today. Not today, _not after last night_.

That vile snake had touched her in places she rarely touched herself! And he made her _feel_ things... made her... made her... _want_.

The thought of being laid half-bare in his arms, recalling how her needy cries echoed in the vast empty library, caused Hermione to throw a quick glamour charm over herself to disguise the violent shade of red that reached from the roots of her bushy brown hair to the tips of her ten toes.

Evil little bouncing Ferret, she thought, gnashing her teeth as she made her way down the corridor that led to the dungeons. _I swear, he's going to regret ever having done that to me!_

"So, Millicent, we've got a bet going," a faceless feminine voice drifted up to Hermione who couldn't help but overhear, "the first Slytherin girl to discover if Draco's received the Dark Ma..."

Hermione didn't realize until too late just how close the other girls were. They'd been so close that she only had an instant to instinctively push herself against the the cold stone wall, away from an on-coming furious Pansy Parkinson who was suddenly in Hermione's face. The Slytherin cow was accompanied by three others, one was Millicent Bulstrode, the others were familiar but a year or two younger.

"How dare you, you revolting little Mudblood, listening in on our conversation!" Pansy accused hotly, her perfectly manicured finger stabbing the air in front of Hermione's nose.

"I was going to class," Hermione replied, amazingly calm considering the circumstances. "You're the one shouting your secrets to all and sundry, Parkinson. Don't blame me for your atrociously blaring big mouth. I don't know why you're so terribly bothered, anyway. It isn't as if I care what your lot do in your spare time and with whom. Frankly, I believe it's quite unsavory to be discussing things like that out in the open."

"Don't you dare tell me what I can or cannot discuss with my friends, you filthy Mudblood! I don't have to take orders from the likes of you!" Pansy shot back. "Besides, your prim and proper act doesn't fool me. You want to be exactly like us, but we all know that you can't attract boys. You barely know your way out of your own knickers, much less know the way into a man's trousers."

This suggestion from the female Slytherin summoned again the memory of last night which threatened to overwhelm all her senses. Hermione tried unsuccessfully to stifle a smirk that shot to her lips as she pettily thought that she was probably the closest of all these girls to winning their stupid Slytherin bet. Hermione had one mad moment of desire to inform Pansy of just exactly where she'd been last night and who exactly was rubbing up against her filthy Muggle self.

Hermione's self-satisfied expression seemed to further irk the female Slytherin who seemed at a loss that her scathing put-down was met with such amusement by the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

"There aren't any real men in our year, Pansy," Hermione sighed, in an attempt to placate. "As it is, none of them is worth a second look." Hermione's inner scholar kicked in as she went on to further explain, "Besides, due to puberty induced hormonal fluxes it wouldn't take very much to interest their most base animal tendencies to bring them to.. um... c-culmination."

"So you've been doing the nasty with your precious Potter or Weasley, Granger? Maybe both? How naughty of you," taunted Pansy with an evil little cackle, not knowing when to leave well enough alone.

"You're disgusting, Pansy," Hermione said, shooting the girl a look of utter contempt.

"As I suspected, Granger," Pansy replied smugly. "You're upset because those two idiots wouldn't be able to pick you out as being female even if you were standing between the Whomping Willow and a troll." The insult was met with snorting and snickering by the girls surrounding the blonde.

Hermione's chin shot up with indignant hauteur. Throughly affronted, Hermione shot back.

"This year, I've realized how those two have become more like brothers to me." Dark brown eyes glared at the brittle, cold blonde. Then Hermione added nastily, "Oh, but wait, I'd forgotten that a pureblooded princess like yourself wouldn't be bothered in the least by in-breeding. I'd nearly forgotten about the Slytherin penchant for incest." Hermione took great comfort in the anger she focused on the gaggle of Slytherin bints, which served to cover up the tender place the sly blonde had unwittingly discovered was still a sore point.

Pansy's eyes narrowed dangerously on Hermione.

"I know I would be able to capture Potter's eye before you ever could," Pansy declared viciously, "you poor pathetic bookworm."

"And I can have Malfoy wrapped around my pinky finger before you could even begin devising ways to..." Hermione proclaimed confidently, lost in rage for a moment, not fully realizing yet that she'd risen to the bait. "...discover whatever it was you four were talking about before you rudely interrupt me on my way to Potions class."

The Slytherins stiffened at the suggestion that Malfoy would dare dirty himself with Hermione. And then Pansy started laughing maniacally. To Hermione's ears it sounded like a call to arms.

"So, shall we?" Hermione dared, her fury still overwhelming her mental clarity.

"We'll have to have a way to prove who won," one of the younger girls said brightly.

Pansy's laughter halted mid-shriek. A chilling look passed over her face, which would have been pretty had it not been so hardened by hatred.

"The first to capture the boy's tie," the last girl eagerly suggested.

"But those are so easy to come by," the first whined.

"_Not_ Malfoy's" Millicent assured. "He wears a pin of the Malfoy crest on it. _Always_."

"And Potter?" the girls turn to Hermione.

"He rarely wears his outside of class," Hermione said quickly, lucidity at last fighting its way to her frontal lobes and warning her of the frightening prospect of entering this wager against a Slytherin who would likely cheat to win.

"His spectacles, then," Millicent decided. "That's got to be just as difficult as getting Draco's tie, don't you think, Pansy?"

"Harry has a couple of those," Hermione interjected.

"And Draco has a couple of ties as well," snapped Pansy. "Are you worried, Granger?"

Hermione new better than to deny it. She knew she was rubbish at lying. Her lips firmed and she stared defiantly at Pansy. Finding renewed amusement in her silence, the blonde sent knowing looks at her girlfriends.

"Because you should be very scared, Mudblood," she hissed menacingly. "We all already know that I will win. I'll have you wearing a Slytherin scarf to our next rival Quidditch match and acting my house elf for a week!"

"Wait! We need rules!" Millicent announced suddenly. "No potions or spells. _No actual sex_. The She-Weasel and none of the boys can know about this. You'll also have to leave a love bite— a mark..."

Pansy pouted. The idea of Hermione touching Malfoy didn't seem to sit well.

"...and no Obliviation in the end," Millicent smirked evilly. "If you manage to get that far, Granger. _Poor Draco,_ but he'll get what he deserves if he does lower himself to the likes of you."

Hermione groaned.

_Poor Draco? Gods, poor Harry, more like it!_

Shaking off the growing trepidation and guilt over sicking Pansy on her best friend, Hermione summoned some of her Gryffindor courage.

"So, Parkinson,"am I to understand that when I come to you telling you where to look for a mark, while bearing Malfoy's tie, with the pin of his family crest, I will have won the right to your slave services for a week?" she clarified. "And besides that, you'll have to wear a Gryffindor scarf and cheer for Harry when he steals the snitch from under Malfoy's nose during our next game?"

"As if _that_ will ever happen," Pansy scoffed. "But yes, Mudblood, if we do this, that will be what I win. You as my ickle personal house elf for a whole week."

Hermione tried not to think of the humiliation that quite possibly lay ahead. Before a full blown panic-attack seized her, Hermione self soothed by convincing herself that there was at least one Gryffindor who wouldn't mind helping her beat Pansy and Harry couldn't be _that_ weak. Right?

"Shall we seal the bet, then?" the annoyingly eager young girl squealed. Hermione and Pansy looked warily at one another.

"Wands up! And I _would_ say, _ladies_— but considering the mixed company..." the girls twittered at Millicent's wit and Hermione rolled her eyes. Pansy held out her wand, as did Hermione. The other girls did the same. They touched the tips. Millicent spoke a mild wager-binding incantation that promised six months of severe acne for any and all rule breakers. Any gossipers in the group had to swear those they told to the same secrecy. With a flick of a wrist and a small spark at the tip of the pyramid of wands, the terms were set and the bet was on.

"Get used to groveling, Granger, you'll need to perfect it to get within twenty meters of Draco," laughed Pansy as she made her way out of the corridor. Hermione stopped herself from making faces at the blonde's back and turned back toward the Potions classroom.

* * *

She was late because of that Slytherin slag and her catty brood. In her preoccupied state-of-mind, Hermione had forgotten Snape's class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, not Potions, and that was why Pansy had been able to claim the seat next to Harry before Hermione realized her mistake and fairly flew back to the first-floor classroom.

When she'd crossed the threshold, she discovered, to her chagrin, that the only seat left open was the one next to the Ferret. The knowing smirk the platinum blond Slytherin sent her as she stepped into the room to be lambasted by Snape for her tardiness made her skin crawl. Harry and Ron sent her twin looks of compassion.

This is what comes from messing about with serpents at midnight, she scolded herself as she took the hangman's walk toward Malfoy. She slid into her seat, cringing away from his straying hand that she knew he was using to torment her.

"Come back for more, Granger?" Malfoy's mocking was delivered in low tones, meant only for her.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she hissed, keeping her face firmly averted.

"That's not what you were saying last night, Bookworm," came the silky reply, still so quiet that his words remained undetected by the people around them. "Also not what your body's telling me to do right now." He let his gaze slowly fall to the space between them.

Miffed at the obscene suggestion, Hermione also looked downward, mortified to discover that the snake was right. She had unconsciously shifted toward him as he spoke, her body encroached on his personal space. She was so close she felt her thigh running alongside the length of his.

She stared at him, thoroughly irritated by the sight of the prat. By all accounts, Malfoy looked the part of the ever-proficient student, his left hand taking copious notes as Snape spoke.

All the while, his other hand was doing something utterly wicked under the voluminous black material of their uniform robes. She felt his already straying hand secretly glide up her leg. She worked not to shoot out of her seat at the feel of him touching her in such a forward manner in such a public place. His hidden fingers moved to caress the tight line her legs created as she sat primly upright, angles crossed, knees together. Her breath hitched as his fingertips inched upward. A hint of a smile twitched at the Ferret's lips at the sound of her ragged breath.

The barely concealed, self-satisfied smirk had her blood boiling. Fortunately, the anger kept her from the feelings that would have swept her away in the dark of night. She was a smart girl who still had the wherewithal to realize a golden opportunity when presented with one.

Firming her resolve, Hermione placed her hand on her lap, right atop his hand, halting the movement of his journeying fingers. His sudden stillness sent a taboo thrill through her. She was hit again with the knowledge of the age old power she possessed against the ploys of this wizard. She pressed down against his fingers, keeping the heat of his hand on the fleshy part of her thigh. She dared not turn to face him, instead she mimicked his studious posture. Schooling her expression to one of polite boredom, she let out a belabored sigh. With her ink-filled quill barely held in hand, she set it to auto-scribble as she spoke into her parchment.

"And you accuse me of being a tease?" she whispered snidely. "You, Malfoy, are the one who is all talk, but no action. In fact, I'm further convinced that you're not man enough to finish the job you started last night."

She watched his profile harden. His adam's apple bobbed indicating he remained a rapt audience. Now, it was her turn to smirk outright. She lowered her head a fraction and her voice turned throaty, her gaze slid toward him under lowered lids.

"In fact, Ferret, I believe if I actually decided to seduce _you_, you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. I'm not afraid to admit that my hormones have me responding to what I can only guess are your pheromones, but you should also be aware that my heart and mind still believe you are scum of the earth."

She enjoyed the sight of his scowl. She shifted her arm a little to give him full view of her parchment. She watched his silver eyes round when he finally saw the work her quill produced. Hermione knew her little sketching charm would come in handy one day. She glanced at the image her magicked quill had drawn— an exact replica of her memory of Malfoy in the darkened corridor. He looked desperate, needy. His jaw clenched, his eyelids at half-mast. The desire reflected in his smoky eyes were written all over his sharp features. His confusion and some disgust was there, too.

"This is what you look like to me, Ferret," she whispered huskily as she gripped his hand and dismissively tossed it away from her. Quickly, she swung out of his reach, putting some distance between them. "Face it, Ferret, you're the one lying to yourself," she kept her voice low, but all he felt was the heat of the message underlying her words.

Their little tussle was thankfully covered by the departing sounds and movements of students gathering their belongings to make haste to their next class. Standing to stuff her own bag, Hermione took a moment to lock gazes with the still silent Slytherin.

"This has nothing to do with which one of us _wants_ the other more, Malfoy. Clearly, _we both want_. The fact remains, you're still the one who couldn't follow through— TWICE. And _that_ is a shame."

Malfoy remained seated, shocked at the Gryffindor's gall. When he'd at last composed himself, Malfoy found himself the only one seated. His cursory glance at the door allowed him to catch the look of utter triumph Granger shot at him as she matched the stride of her usual guards. It was a look Draco found he desperately needed to wipe off of her smug little face.

* * *

Hermione was on a mission. It was already time to head back to the tower after dinner. Since leaving D.A.D.A., she'd already checked off nine things on her 10 item to-do list that guaranteed her winning the bet against Pansy. All that was left was to somehow convince Lavender to help her seduce the Slytherin. She couldn't ask Ginny without winning herself a half-year of terrible acne. At last, Hermione made her way into the shared dormitory. She'd worked up a serviceable cover story when Lavender bounded up to her and dropped a small paperback onto her lap.

_101 Ways to Seduce a Wizard_

_So the rumor mill was a-churnin',_ Hermione thought wryly.

"I assume you'll be wanting this," the curly-haired brunette offered giddily. "I know you don't like me, Hermione. The feeling is mutual. The thing is, though, I despise Pansy and you are going to win this bet if it kills me. I'm just sorry it has to be Malfoy..."

Despite her flighty appearances, Lavender was no Hufflepuff. She was at sharp enough to realize that in helping Hermione she could help sever what little romantic notions Ron might still have for the Gryffindor bookworm. Alarmed, yet relieved not to have to lie about needing her roommate's assistance, Hermione braved one query, "You haven't told Ginny about this have you?"

"Told Ginny _what_?"

"Oh, never mind," Hermione replied hurriedly. "I was going to ask you for help, anyway. I just didn't want Ginny to... to know, really."

"Understandable. Your friends despise Draco. But don't worry, Parvati and I are the only ones in the House who know Pansy dared you to seduce Malfoy. If you win, you get to order her around for a week!" Lavender whispered conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling at the idea of having Pansy as a slave, even vicariously.

Of all the girls to know about this, Parvati and Lavender were the ones most likely to _accidentally_ share information with the whole of Hogwarts, nevermind fellow Gryffindors. Seeing the worry on Hermione's face, Lavender tried to comfort her, "Truly, Hermione, Parvati and I can keep a secret. We're told that if Ron, or Harry know about this at all, awful things will happen to our facial skin! Merlin! Those Slytherins are wicked!"

Still worried, Hermione quickly caved for practicality's sake. She needed Lavender's help. She was realistic enough to know this and she didn't have a whole lot of time to be finicky since she'd been on the clock since Pansy started moving in on Harry.

"OK, Lav, I'm your willing student. But, you'll have to be quick about it. I have to capture Malfoy's tie and present it to that wicked witch before she's able to accomplish something similar."

"What's the deadline? How long do I have?"

"Two nights before I have prefect duty with him," Hermione said. "I arranged for it this afternoon. He has no idea."

"You work fast, Hermione," Lavender said appraisingly. "It seems you have a lot of confidence in yourself, too, if you think you can learn the art of seduction in so little time."

"If there's one thing I am, Lavender, it's a quick study."

A raised eyebrow, an assessing gaze, a nod and it was done.

"Alright then, turn to page 7. Let's start with..."

**

* * *

Two Days Later...

* * *

**

Hermione was watching a thoroughly agitated Harry as she made to leave the Common room. He looked like he wanted to confide something terrible and she wanted desperately to tell him it would be OK, that he'd only have to keep his hands off the Slytherin cow for only a few more hours.

He'd glanced desperately at her when she left through the portrait hole. She felt frightfully awful for having pit him against Pansy. It was the last thing Harry needed. She was mentally kicking herself for letting her temper get the better of her when she at last reached the prefect office and quietly opened the door.

Malfoy was there in the office waiting for her. Her heart slammed in her chest at the sight of him. His blond fringe hung in his eyes, looking down at the wand he was twirling in his hand. His slouch kept his bum propped against the Head's desk. He hadn't caught sight of her yet. Her eyes focused in on the item she meant to win tonight. As Millicent predicted, he had it on, complete with Malfoy crest. Like a shiny trinket to a magpie, the silver pin glinted in the firelight, tempting Hermione closer.

She felt her new jade green knickers slide against the curve of her bottom as she sashayed toward him. The frilly garters that held up her sheer stockings under her uniform made her feel utterly feminine. The luxurious feel of her undergarments kept the reasons for her being in Malfoy's presence tonight forefront. Ever the scholar, she likened this moment to facing her final exams. And like the prodigious student she was, Hermione ran through the key points she'd learned from her roommates in the last couple of days before entering the exam room.

_1. Be mysterious and playful_

_2. Contradict yourself, confuse him_

_3. Flirt intensively with 90% body language and only 10% with words_

_4. Take care never to appear too needy_

_5. Awake the explorer in him_

_6. Let him do most of the talking_

_7. Try to make an all-senses-explosion: looks, taste, music, touch, scent_

Lavender and Parvati had told her that she might have the worst trouble with Number 6, but they brushed the concern away convinced that her loquaciousness might be the unique thing about her that attracted Malfoy anyway. He, after all, was nearly as smart as she was, and their sharp verbal sparring was legend throughout the school.

Thanks to Parvati's skill at rooting out the most trivial gossip, Hermione was also wearing the scent of the Ferret's favored flower. How she'd discovered that it was the exotic Plumeria, Hermione would never know. What she did know was that she was ready for this confrontation. More than ready, thanks to Lavender and her vast experience. She was going to win and she relished the idea of besting Pansy as she neared her unsuspecting target.

Hermione was only five steps into the room when Malfoy whipped his head up to stare squarely at her. His hand tensed, gripping the handle of his wand.

"What are you doing here, Granger," he sneered hatefully.

"Prefect duty, same as you, Malfoy," she replied almost amiably.

"You're not scheduled tonight," he stated, voice laced with suspicion.

"But I am. It pays to be friends with the Head Girl," she explained, venturing closer, staring at him, but not really seeing him. Hermione couldn't focus on him as a person. He was just a boy, a boy who had basic male needs that she needed to exploit if she was going to beat Pansy at this game. "The Head Girl's the one who made sure you weren't aware I'd be partnered with you tonight."

"And _why_ would you secretly arrange to place yourself in my presence, again, Granger?" Malfoy couldn't force his gaze from hers. She looked almost— _predatory_. "You seemed more than content to keep me at arm's length for the past couple of days."

_He's been counting,_ she thought, strangely heartened by this knowledge. _Well, here we go..._

**

* * *

Step 1: ****Be mysterious and playful

* * *

**

"I needed you, well, _your body_, to be exact," she said with a little pout when he looked at her askance. "I want to test a theory, Ferret."

"And... and what's that?" he stuttered, his eyes mesmerized by the sight of her glistening tongue sliding back and forth across the inside of her lips, like a cat greedily approaching fresh cream.

"That by my touch alone, I can cause you to lose your wits and—," she said matter-of-factly, presenting her profile. She sighed, silent a moment as if taking a moment to consider something, then slowly turning her head to take him in again, she added, "in doing so, you'll willingly give me something of yours that I'd like to have."

His eyes honed in on her stance. Her hands were open, inviting. Her body laxed. She moved to rest a palm on the back of the old leather sofa that faced the fireplace. A small secret smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as if she was amused by her own request.

_What in Merlin's name did she want from him?_

"Collecting memorabilia, now, Granger?" he asked maliciously, displeased at the thought of being this witch's plaything. He was all too aware of her, distracted now by the fascinating scent of her. Not her usual, rose-tipped scent. He realized with a start that he'd grown quite accustomed to the innocent sweetness of that. No, tonight she wore something more mysterious, more like the flowers in his mother's hothouse. Exotic. It was _intoxicating_.

"Something like that, Ferret," she watched his eyes, ever watchful, scrutinizing her every move, "more like a _trophy_, actually." She smiled beguilingly, secretly her flailing confidence was buoyed because she knew her seduction of the Slytherin had begun days earlier...

**

* * *

Step 2: Contradict yourself, confuse him.

* * *

**

Her words shocked him. _What was this bint about?_

For two days she'd been toying with him, accidentally brushing the back of his hand during Potions, then shrieking at him when he'd knocked her down on his way to Arithmancy. He'd been so alarmed by the sight of her on the ground that he'd nearly helped pick her up. Frustrated at his impulsive show of gallantry toward the Gryffindor Know-It-All, he'd purposely kicked her books out of her reach to show everyone just what an uncaring arse he was. It was, after all, _her_ fault for being in his way to begin with.

The following day, as if they hadn't had the public row at all, she cast him sideways glances and crooked smiles during Advanced Charms. She seemed to be following him that afternoon since he found her examining the tapestry of the ballet dancing trolls with a faraway, smoldering smile. Later, he'd been met with her cold, angry eyes when he dared insult her in the presence of Theo and Zabini. Yet, at dinner, she sent secret sidelong glances his way from across the Great Hall.

She ran searing hot and then freezing cold. This was _Granger_ and if he hadn't already tasted a bit of her forbidden fruit, he knew he would be mildly annoyed if not bemused by her far too confounding female behavior toward _him_. But now? The mere knowledge of her being in the same room was simply_exasperating_.

"I will submit to your experimentation, I suppose," he allowed, with what sounded like weary disinterest. He was trying in vain to hide his unseemly want for her. The look on her face frightened him, as if she knew the desperate confusing desire beneath the feigned boredom in his response. He turned away from the sight of her far too-pleased expression.

"I thought you'd put up more of a fight, Malfoy," she said with some derision. "I am, after all, a _Mudblood_."

"And _I_ am a randy male teenager, Granger," he nearly snarled. "_This_ is what it is. And if you really do want to test your theory _this_ is all that you are going to get. Far be it for me to be the one who thwarts your scientific inquiry."

She snorted daintily. She looked to him waiting for the next cue. His tongue flicked out to mimic her earlier movements. She raised her eyebrow. Her fingers twitched.

**

* * *

Step 3: Flirt intensively with 90% body language and only 10% with words.

* * *

**

She watched his eyes drop to her hand. She purposefully slid her fingers up her body and up the side of her throat. She found her fingers cooled her heated skin. She stopped at her shoulder to take hold of an errant curl that had fallen out of her carefully charmed messy top knot. She played with it between her fingers as he watched. Her eyes slid beneath her lashes to look at him, then darted away to stare the into fire. She turned again to look at him and that's when their gazes caught.

_She did look awfully pretty in the firelig__ht_, he thought distractedly, watching as she twined the curl around and around her finger.

He'd never really paid attention to her graceful neck before. This thought had him wanting to be the one stroking her hair and sliding his palm against her throat to measure the length between nape to the sloping crook at her shoulder.

He shook his head a little to clear his thoughts and realized with a severe jolt that if just looking at her was so erotically potent, there needed to be some limits to what he'd allow her to do to him during her "experiment." He despised not being the one in control of this assignation.

His growing attraction to the grimy Gryffindor was beyond deplorable.

_It was unconscionable!_

This witch was _Muggleborne_, she was lower than the dirt beneath his pureblooded feet. And tonight, Draco decided, she would see that her ridiculous ploy at seduction would result in him using her and carelessly tossing her away. Just as it should have been from the start.

Clearly, she'd come to him tonight to assert a power position in this little game of cat and mouse they were playing. Draco swore quietly as she moved slightly, her face open and inviting, reminding him of the night in the library.

He'd willingly put himself in front of his father's _Crucio_ before he'd ever give this witch the slightest notion he was vulnerable to her charms.

"One rule, Granger," he drawled langorously, "absolutely no kissing."

Purposely avoiding the inquisitive look on her face, he turned to pocket his wand. He used the movement to steady his breath, and ready himself for whatever she had in store for him.

"No kissing at all?" she protested, her greedy gaze moved to his mouth— his thin lips... ones she found she needed to bite so they were a bit swollen with the desire she saw barely banked in his eyes.

"No kissing _on the mouth_, to be exact," he hemmed, taking a step backward away from the tempting sight of her.

**

* * *

Step 4: Take care never to appear too needy

* * *

**

"Alright," she said, sending him a look of demure disappointment. She had noticed his slight retreat. Not wanting to scare him off with her advances, she decided to move away, too. Hermione presented her back to him, taking slow steps toward the fire, stretching, knowing just how the light made her silhouette visible through her robes. She and Parvati tested the effect up in the tower. She smiled to herself when she heard the distinct intake of his breath. Then she slid onto the couch. She draped her arm over the top, chin resting on her forearm. "That's fine, Malfoy. A lot of vile things spill out of your foul mouth, anyway," she added smartly. "And since we're on the subject, I also have one rule. You're not to touch me without my explicit invitation."

"Playing the dominatrix tonight, Granger?" he asked with dark amusement. But to Hermione's ears there was no mistaking his uncertainty. He usually resorted to insults when he had nothing else.

_She was unnerving,_ he thought unhappily and he was doing his best, despite the flash of cumbersome hormones, to quickly understand her scheming behavior. She seemed to sense his dislike of the role he found himself in this evening. Truth be told, Malfoy was more than confused and flustered by her coy yet cool approach. This was not the dazed, wanting wench he left in the library. This was the fearsome creature of the corridor.

"No, it's not that. I simply don't wish to be distracted," she remarked primly, looking up at him with dark sable eyes. She watched him stalk closer now, seeming to take some comfort in the solid sofa between them.

**

* * *

Step 5: Awake the explorer in him**

* * *

As she settled herself, she made sure her robe opened enough to show off some leg. She stole another glance up at him and saw he'd caught a glimpse of lace garters with green bows. Ensuring he received an eyeful, she played at modesty, snatching her robes around her, smoothing the material back over her legs.

She knew she'd treasure his look of regret just as much as she relished the memory of him under her wand against the stone wall. She watched the cold steel of his gaze turn molten metal. She was delightfully shocked to discover Malfoy's eyes dart back to her previously exposed legs, seeming to believe she might give him a look-see again.

_Lord, it was working! Praise be to Lavender and Parvati!_

All blood left Malfoy's brain to head south. _Was that really green lacy things under there?_ He rubbed at his eyes and pointedly moved his gaze to the top of her mess of hair. _Upswept curls would be a euphemism, _he thought. Yet even in disarray, it was... _attractive_.

It would be even more so if he could just pull it all back down and around her shoulders. He cursed silently at himself for this unbidden acknowledgement of his desire for her.

"We already know what happens to me when you touch me," she continued, in full lecture mode.

All Malfoy's thoughts slid away when her eyes met his, held for a little, then raked hungrily down his body to stop and stare at his now tightly clenched fists. He was having a difficult time focusing on her obnoxious know-it-all voice, so he settled on keeping his lips curled unhappily as he stared at her flapping mouth. He only caught her last two sentences.

"—I don't like the idea of tying you up, Malfoy. I'd rather you lose your wits without feeling as though I'd forced myself on you."

His breath became more labored as the bold words fell from the Bookworm's lips. She _actually_ seemed intent on seducing him.

"I agree. I dislike the idea of being bound," he said, distracted. She shot him a look when he added caustically, "So, I will refrain from touching you, Granger, which should not be too difficult a task considering your lowly pedigree. And you will _not_ kiss my mouth," he again emphasized.

"Yet, you have no qualms about me touching you or placing my lips elsewhere on your body?" she inquired, turning again to face him, honestly curious about this peculiar boundary of his. Her mouth was slightly open, moist.

What little color he had leeched from his face. _Where else was she intending to place those pouty lips, anyway?_

Clawing for the calm he used when practicing Occlumency, Draco nonchalantly shrugged as he approached the back of the couch. The look on his face showed eager anticipation as well as some dread. She felt a little disgusted at her own overwhelming hormones for making her sexually attracted to a bastard like him.

He stood above her, looking intently at her face, as if trying to read her mind. When it became clear he wasn't going to answer, she reached up to place a hand at the pin on his tie, her finger played idly with the silver snake, rubbing it warm since it felt so cold beneath her fingertips.

She watched his nostrils flare and the pulse at his neck quicken. If she looked straight in front of her and had he been undressed, she suspected she'd be looking at navel and possibly a spray or line of blond hair leading her gaze downward. She was surprised that the idea of a nude Malfoy didn't frighten her any longer. In fact, she rather wondered how soon she could get him in a state of undress. A secret smile slid unto her lips.

"Hmmm," she purred. "It's no real matter. So, shall we begin?"

She caught his moment of panic. She'd called his bluff and at the sight of his look of alarm, she had to keep from laughing out loud.

**

* * *

**

Step 6 (Hard Part): Let him do most of the talking  
_If all else fails, lead him into a beguiling lexical tango_

* * *

"What about our... our... rounds?" Draco blinked, swallowing nervously, his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, trying, apparently to keep to his promise not to touch her.

She watched his eyes flick to the door and she smiled seductively. Maybe he really and truly had no idea what to do with her after all!

"Stalling, Malfoy? No need to worry. We're covered... I've found it also helpful to befriends the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff prefects, who happen to owe me for some tutoring," she said smugly. "Shall we lock the door?"

At that, he really did look ready to flee.

She raised an eyebrow, "Did you want to leave, then, Ferret? Call it a draw?"

Her mocking had him brusquely raising his wand hand, pointing it to the door and muttering a spell that sent the terrifying sound of a click into the quietness of the room.

"No, I'm not leaving. Get on with it," he snapped, striding around the couch, throwing himself down beside her.

"Such a turn on, Malfoy," she grumbled, "I can't imagine what it is about you that makes me want to put so much effort into making you lose your mind."

"You've thought this through, apparently. I suspect your reasons are the same as the ones I have for still being here," he sneered, somewhat aggrieved, moving to rest his head on the back of the chair, "Do your best, Granger. You're good at that."

On that belligerent note, he peered at her scowling face through lowered blond lashes. As he did so, she performed an angry foot stomp in her head at _his ... his... annoying Malfoy-ness!_

_Blast! He didn't look so hot and bothered now_, she thought frantically, pulling to her feet watching him just lounge there. _How did he have the absolute nerve to look so attractive and... bored!_

She fought the impulsive desire to pace. Instead, she stared boldly at him, her fingers nervously toying with her robe, just as Lavender suggested she do in case things went awry.

"Start opening your robe... slowly," Lavender had lectured. "But, for Merlin's sake, make sure _he's_ watching!"

Hermione took stock of her current situation with the Slytherin. He looked like a lazy cat, his posture princely, awaiting her next move. She watched him pretending to ignore her. Miffed at his inattentiveness, she shut her eyes to summon her inner slag.

Peeking out beneath her eyelid she watched him looking at her curiously. Hermione slowly lifted her foot out of her shoe and placed her stockinged toes on the seat cushion beside Malfoy. She skillfully flipped open her robe and made sure her skirt slipped higher up her thigh to give him a teasing view of what lay just beneath it. With infinite care, she pulled her wand from her leather thigh holster. His eyes followed her every calculated move. She didn't remove her foot from beside him as she cast a charm that lowered the glare of the room torches. His eyes hadn't yet wavered from the sight of her bent leg. He appeared to be swallowing very rapidly. She grinned inwardly at this small victory. As she continued to set the mood in the room, her mind was also ticking off the items on her "How to Seduce Malfoy" checklist.

_What was left?_ she prodded her memory. _What was left?_

**

* * *

Step 7: Try to make an all-senses explosion:

* * *

**

**Looks... **Lavender and Parvati had tackled Hermione's unruly mane for an hour and she knew she looked— _different. He was still looking wasn't he? _So, yes, _check_.

**Scent... **His favorite flower scent. He did seem to be taking large, almost gulping breaths. So, OK, _check_.

**Music...**. Lavender had given her two songs to choose from. She'd been adamant that if Hermione followed the proven L. Brown formula, she'd have snagged the blasted tie long before the last stanza of the first song was complete. So, with a fortifying breath, Hermione readied herself. This little alluring dance had been practiced and polished back in the room with the girls. She was going to start with _Nasty Naughty Boy_, by a Muggle singer named Aguilera. This bluesy piece she was going to conjure with her wand was tightly edited to Hermione's liking, much to Lavendar's dismay. It was perfect, though, for what Hermione wanted to accomplish tonight and she would forever wonder where and how Lavender discovered this little musical treasure. Perhaps it was a good idea that she _never_ know.

"I thought some music might alter the experiment a little to my advantage while supplementing _your_ Muggle studies... Muggle music, Malfoy—," Hermione explained patiently. She touched her wand to the her messy up-do as she continued, "—has a magic all its own. Well, you'll see." Her long locks cascaded around her shoulders in luscious mahogany waves, swirls, and curls. _Mesmerizing_.

Malfoy gulped.

_In over his head. _

The helpless thought winked in his consciousness before he was met with another wave of undeniable need at the distracting vision of her. Just a touch of her wand and the clasp of her robe unsnapped itself. A wrist flick and it was sent flying, landing neatly folded on top of the Head Girl's desk. Hermione was indeed a sight to behold.

_Nothing glamoured, _he realized, his breath short. _It__ was just her, in all her __witchy__ glory, spiffed up only a little._

The girls had convinced Hermione that she needed to charm her skirt a few inches shorter and her top needed to be just a bit tighter to hug her natural curves.

_The Mudblood cleans up nicely_, Draco thought with silent surly appreciation, surprising himself by taking perverse pleasure in the fact that she'd gone to the trouble.

"Maybe you'll discover you enjoy it, you pureblooded bigot," she added. "We'll call this _broadening your horizons_."

_Something needed to be done about that filthy mouth, though. _He snorted indelicately, but his eyes remained riveted to the tantalizing sight of her. She lifted her wand.

"_Diligo Carmen__!_"

He watched a sensuous smile lift her lips as the sound of the woman's bawdy voice and the lazy sax wrapped them both up in a moment of undiluted sexual tension. Her eyelids drifted shut as the lusty sounds drifted over the two caught in its snare. The tune changed slightly, and the chocolate brown of her eyes caught the smoldering silver of his.

_**"You've been a bad bad boy  
I'm gonna take my time, so enjoy...**_

Hermione stifled a cackle as she watched his pewter eyes widen in shock at the words that fairly undulated with sex in the suddenly smaller, overheated room. His finger tugged at the knot of his tie, loosening it a bit as he watched her swaying to the music.

His eyes came to rest on the fingers she had fidgeting at the top of her blouse. When she saw she had captured his attention, she pulled at her tie so it quickly came undone, leaving it to have the look of being incautiously slung around her neck like an unwound scarf. She undid one button and then another as she swayed closer.

_**'Cause I wanna give you a little taste  
Of the sugar below my waist, you nasty boy**_

She stood inches in front of him, grabbed hold of her skirt and flashed him to give him a peek of her emerald silk knickers before darting out of reach. His hands first reached for her, then remembering their pact, he moved them to claw at the sofa's seat cushions. His mouth hung open at her brazen strip tease. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, unsure of what he'd gotten himself into. This was _not_ something he expected at all! This was sex kitten gone tigress in the space of twenty minutes. His brain froze as hormones took over. In all honesty, for Malfoy, the surrender to nature was nearly a relief.

_She actually had Malfoy gaping and reaching for her! Merlin's Pants! Lavender was right! It was actually working!_ It took everything in Hermione not to break out into a triumphant happy dance. If Lavender had been Muggle, there'd be no doubt she would have been head cheerleader. The choreography she'd made Hermione learn for this dance of seduction was ..._ she noticed the obvious tenting of Malfoy's trousers..._ working so well!

Fortified by the sight of him, she moved even closer, and decided now was the time to straddle his thighs. And she did. He sucked in a lungful of air and didn't appear to be breathing well. She bent at the waist to place her hands on his shoulders. _It's all for the damn tie and pin, and to see Pansy's face squinched up in horror,_ she promised herself, as her hips rocked to the music, teasing him unmercifully.

_**I'll give you some oh-la-la  
Voulez vous coucher avec moi?**_

"Do you know a little French, Malfoy?" she whispered hotly in his ear, her blouse gaping as she bent to give him an eyeful of her matching green brassiere. She placed a palm on his chest, plucking open a button and easing her fingers inside. She felt the betraying sharp staccato of his heart beat and smiled a siren's smile. Satisfied with his heightened awareness, she started to quietly sing along, her mouth still brushing his sensitive lobes. She touched her tongue to the whorls of his ear and he shot up, nearly knocking her off balance.

His hands went immediately to her waist. Her hands flew to cover his and she tsk'd at him.

"Uh-uh-uh, bad, boy," she scolded playfully, swatting his hands away. As punishment for breaking the rule, she abruptly stood up, but not before grabbing up his tie. She tugged it a little so he had to look up or choke.

"No touching," she chastened more forcefully, adding a sharp warning in her glare.

He nodded miserably, hands immediately dropping to his sides, clutching again at the seat cushion. Pleased with his want-induced cowering, she moved to straddle his hips once more, quickly recovering her previous position.

_**I got you breaking into a sweat**_

She looked at him, waggled her eyebrows suggestively and noticed the sheen of perspiration at his hairline.

_**Got you hot, bothered, and wet  
You nasty boy**_

Hermione could see the rivaling looks of revulsion and desire grappling to take hold of his fine features. When he shut his eyes to the brassy, bossy sight of her, she grabbed at his hair and raked his scalp with her short fingernails. Hermione lowered her mouth to his neck, nuzzling the tender spot beneath his ear. She nipped. He released a choked breath. She looked down to view her handiwork. Red, but not _enough_. She nipped again, _harder_. He groaned. She made another quick inspection, then laved the spot, quite pleased with herself.

"Open your eyes, Ferret," she demanded. His eyes shot open. Belligerence, reluctant acquiescence. "That's better, you prat."

_**Nasty naughty boy**_

She lazily slid a hand down his chest, to rest at his waistband. She thoroughly enjoyed the needy whine he tried to bite back. He threw his head back. The tendons along his throat stretched as his jaw clenched. He stared defiantly at her the entire time. Nothing like anticipation acting the best aphrodisiac. Her fingers still only rested on the button of his trousers.

_**Oh baby for all it's worth  
I swear I'll be the first to blow your mind**_

"You want me to touch you, don't you," her whisper was more statement, than question. He nodded reluctantly. Her hand moved confidently to grab him through the material that separated their vital parts.

"Don't close your eyes, you miserable snake, I want you to know exactly who's making you feel this way."

The flare of desire in his cloud clogged eyes, his sharp intake of breath, and the quick tightening of lips unmistakably displayed that she'd made her point.

_**Hush now, don't say a word**_

"Does your little serpent want to come out and play, Malfoy?" she asked, her fingers rediscovering the fastenings of his trousers and squeezing.

"Not so little," he argued hoarsely as her fingers smoothed their way across the taut quivering muscles of his lower abdomen. Yes, there was a course line of blond hair there, she thought, pleased she'd been right in her prediction. She smirked playfully.

"I'll be the judge of that, you self-aggrandizing prat. Now, shut up! Aren't you listening to the song at all?"

_**Touch**_**, **_definitely, check._

She wondered at the sight of him, pleased to witness a helpless, writhing Malfoy beneath her as she gripped him, measuring his arousal stilled trapped in his shorts.

"Please, Granger." His choked plea intrigued her. She cocked her head curiously at him.

"Begging? How unbecoming of a Malfoy," she derided. She watched the petulant scowl form on his lips. Oh, how she wanted to kiss him. He bucked his hips angrily against her.

"Are you all talk, too?" his gruff accusation carried a dare that she couldn't let pass. _Did he really want her to so badly_? At another demanding motion of his hips, she decided, _Yes, he did, indeed_.

Her hand strayed close to his one body part straining to be free. Then there was a moment of true fear. She'd never seen a real live male's bits before and judging from what was under her hand, this certainly didn't look like "bits" at all. The Ferret might be right in saying that he wasn't so little, but she wasn't about to let him know her apprehension about his size. She'd gotten herself this far on faking feminine confidence. Now, she simply had to close the deal.

_**I'm gonna give you what you deserve**_

She'd been waiting for the line in the song before diving her hand beneath his skivvies. She explored just a little before closing over the hot, bare, length of him. So surprisingly soft, yet shockingly hard steel held in her curled fingers. He groaned loudly. His head swayed forward, bumping against her chest. He snapped his head back and stilled, seemingly worried she'd pull away like she had before at his accidental touch. There was a churning in the pit of her stomach when she noticed his uncertainty. An ache swelled deep and low. It was a mysterious yearning that she'd only experienced that awful night in the library... with him... _for him_. Disgusted with herself, she had to acknowledge the truth. She _wanted_ again... _so very desperately_.

_But not this way. Not with him,_ she berated herself silently. _Just follow Lavender's plan!_

_**Now you better give me a little taste**_

Hermione, leaned in toward him again, presenting her lace encased breasts to his mouth for a feast. It was an unspoken invitation he greedily accepted. Her eyes closed in ecstasy as she felt the emerald silk grow wet. He expertly used the swath of damp cloth as a slight abrasive as his mouth worked on her. She continued to gyrate against his leg in an effort to ease the itching need she found herself fighting against.

_**Taste.**_

_Gods!_

__

Yes!

Yes!

_Check that one off, too!_

She looked down at her hand, sliding up and down the naked length of him. _No, definitely, not little,_ she thought perversely. What would it be like to have him exactly where he was meant to be? The wicked thought shot a dark thrill through her. Beneath heavy lids, she peered at his face. His expression was strained with need, his gaze, still latched onto hers.

_This was the moment,_ she reminded herself. _Look down, watch what you're doing to him and then catch his eye again._ She did as her hazy brain commanded. _And upon making eye contact, she let her tongue flick out, to toy with him, making him think of other places her wet mouth could be._

_That Lavender is absolutely brilliant! _Hermione thought with relief. _She wouldn't actually have to do _the_ deed, but a well-timed lick of the lips certainly had _him_ thinking she might._

And now, he was putty in her hands._ Literally._

His hips moved to the beat of the music and the rhythm she created with her caresses. His eyes never left her. Storm clouds of desire, pregnant with the need to thunderously explode.

"Faster, Granger," his raspy demand was thick with want. She complied, fascinated as she witnessed the typically cool and unflappable Malfoy in the throes of passion. This must be why boys enjoy sex so much, it seems to make even him, feel this unabashedly fantastic.

And to imagine that they hadn't even come close to intercourse... _not really_.

_**Put your icing on my cake**_

And he did... _all over_.

_Ick._

She frowned at the mess on her hands.

Regardless, the wild abandoned cries that tore from his throat were ones Hermione immediately wanted to make him repeat. He unconsciously grabbed hold of the tops of her thighs, adding delicious pressure to his convulsing groin. He didn't call her name, but prayed to a deity she didn't think he could believe in. He shouted his gratitude and hissed his disbelief at his powerlessness and lack of control in her presence. It was...

_...perfect_.

She grinned wickedly.

_**You nasty boy**_

_Nasty._

_Exactly_.

His eyes, which had squeezed shut during his climax, snapped open. Hermione smirked and made a production of wiping her grimy hand off on his formerly pristine shirt whites.

She felt his fingers relax against her thighs and made to move away. His renewed grip, however, refrained her movement. He pulled her against him again. She glared at him for his rough handling of her. Then she started to feel his hands move.

"No! You're breaking the rules," she protested, even as her body began to respond to his touch. She wanted desperately to capitulate to his increasingly convincing demands for her to give in to sensation.

"Don't you want to know what that felt like?" he drawled sexily, his face burrowing again between her breasts. She wrapped her fingers in his soft blond hair, pulling him closer.

"You did a brilliant job, for a Muggle. Say my name," he whispered against her dewy skin. "Cry out for me. Say my name."

"Malfoy," it came out as a hoarse whine, not at all like the angry admonishment she'd meant. She again presented herself to his mouth for suckling.

"My _first_ name, Granger." He blew on her offering, causing a tingling sensation that went from her navel to depths unknown, causing her to squirm against him. "You know it, Bookworm. Say my name!"

The haze in her brain cleared momentarily. She looked at him, sexily mussed from her earlier foray into seduction.

_What was he on about?_

She pushed her breast back into his face to shut him up.

"Say it," he ground out, nipping at a pebbled tip, thoroughly unhappy with her resistance to such a simple request. "Damn you, Granger, I won't be someone you shag and simply walk away from. Say my bloody name!" He twisted her nipple punishingly. Pain intertwined with pleasure. She gasped a small sound of needy disapproval.

Couldn't speak, not with him touching her. He'd broken the rule. Now she'd have to punish _him_. She shook her head vigorously. Catching her lower lip between her teeth.

Something shifted in his eyes and suddenly she saw that he looked a little more lonely than angry, a little more desolate than arrogant. He needed—_ a __connection— _something far deeper it seemed, than what she'd been prepared to offer him. Her sharp intake of breath was more due to this realization than what his knowing hands were doing to her.

He ably hid the glimmer of his sad truth from her almost as soon as it shone in his face. But she knew it had been there. He tried anyway to make her forget what she'd seen by using his aggravatingly experienced fingers to deftly find her silk-covered core...

._..and stroke._

She gasped again, but this time it was because of the frisson of desire that he caused to race through her.

"My name, Granger." His movement of his fingers echoed his urging voice. "This is more than bloody pheromones, witch. Do you want to feel the way you made me feel?"

_Yesssssssssss_, she thought even as her head fervently shook the contrary.

"Say, _Draco_, Granger," he breathed seductively. "Say it and I'll give you _whatever_ you want."

_The tie._

"A kiss, first," she whispered.

_What? _

Her eyes shot open at the sound of her own lustful voice asking the forbidden. She gazed dazedly into the shocked silver depths of his.

_Where in Merlin's Pants had that come from?_

She mentally kicked herself. But the continued look of ... whatever it was, it _wasn't_ desire... had her deciding she would work for the prize of his Slytherin tie _after_ she'd satisfied her curiosity about his infernal mouth on hers.

It seemed the sound of her breathless request, froze Malfoy. His caressing stopped abruptly.

Alarmed, Hermione aggressively moved her face closer to his, but he pushed his hands against her swaying torso. His mouth puffed a few quick, uneven breaths where he'd just laved his tongue against her twin peaks— leaving her with a..._ chill_.

And then he spoke. His voice all at once annoyed, gruff, wistful, empty.

"No."

The word knocked the breath out of her.

_Why would he deny her this? It was unreasonable! Was she so unattractive and undesirable?_

She was sitting in his lap, for pity's sake! Yet, he still somehow found the control to refuse her _one_ kiss? It felt like she'd been slapped, exactly like the other night, when he'd waltzed away so cruelly, leaving her reaching out for him. Shocked and undeniably hurt, she raced to grab hold of her feelings before they became apparent on her face. She schooled her features and with tight movements, withdrew from him. She lifted herself off of his still bared self, surprisingly erect again. She took extreme care not to touch him unnecessarily.

He made a final feeble attempt to try and pull her back down, to recapture the moment and finish them both off. But she slapped his hands away and leapt out of his reach.

"No? Well, then, you spoiled, insufferable git, I WILL NOT SAY YOUR BLOODY NAME," she sucked in a long breath, grabbing at anything that would keep her from performing accidental magic aimed directly at where she was looking. "I will never EVER say your bloody stupid name— EVER!" she repeated for emphasis.

With each painfully spat word, her voice grew louder. As she spoke, she frustratedly put herself and the room back in order. She blinked back the painful prickle of humiliated tears, determined not to cry in his detestable presence. Her fingers shook uncontrollably as she re-clasped each button, grabbed up her robe and snapped up every clasp. She turned her back to him, so arrogantly unaware of his nudity while he watched in silence as she re-did her hair, put an end to the charmed lusty music, and re-ignited the torches. With one last swift, furious glance around, she stalked to the meeting room door. She shouted a _Finite Incantantum!_ which produced a rather satisfying click, and then turned to regard the mute Slytherin once more.

"_You_ are an idiot to the nth degree, Malfoy," she seethed before slamming the door soundly shut behind her infuriated, unsatisfied self.

Within the room, said idiot could not agree more.

Halfway back to Gryffindor Tower, in a deserted corridor, Hermione halted in her tracks. She realized suddenly that she, touted as the Brightest Witch of Her Age, was an even bigger fool than the one she'd left sprawled half-naked on the prefect couch.

She slapped a palm to her throbbing forehead.

"Bugger me, I forgot to grab the damn tie!"

* * *

_**Author's note:** ACK! I just realized that I need some ideas about what Hermione might make Pansy do, if she wins...OR what Pansy might make Hermione do - that is, if she wins. If you have idea(s) you'd like to read, please PM or leave it in the review! I promise to give you credit!_

_- I'm not sure how much further I can go on without breaking the M-rating rule here — just so you know. BTW the poll's still up on my profile about how this one should end. Please go vote! :)_


	4. To Liberate a Lioness

**To Liberate a Lioness**

**

* * *

**

A Slytherin scarf slowly falls onto the open book she is bent over. Hermione stops herself from showing any emotion at the alarming sight of the tidy coil of silver and green now covering her Arithmancy text. The dreaded clattering of a familiar set of round wire-frame glasses landing next to her quill on the table echoes in the empty recesses of the library, where she thought she had hidden herself well.

Hermione sets her teeth, steeling herself before deigning to look up. To her dismay, the expected intruder possesses a wicked gleam of triumph in her glittering gaze.

"Back of the left shoulder, near his neck," Pansy says smugly. "Oh, and one next to his left nipple, but he might have fixed that one already." Hermione stifles a gasp, Pansy smiles evilly, adding, "When you confirm the evidence, find me in the prefect office, Mudblood."

_Slag!_ Hermione thinks hatefully, scowling at Pansy's pugnacious face.

The Gryffindor girl's more colorful internal curses would have made a Muggle sailor blush had she cared to speak them aloud.

She kicks herself for her own monumental stupidity for allowing a bad temper to push her this far into this insane melodrama. Then, her fury centers on Harry for capitulating to the wiles of the Slytherin witch in such a horrifyingly minuscule amount of time.

"Don't take too long, Mudblood," she warns, not bothering to keep the swagger from her sing-song voice, "I have some lovely tasks for you to complete."

Pansy's evil cackle seems to hover in the air even after she left the library.

Hermione shudders.

**

* * *

Checking the Evidence

* * *

**

"How'd you get yourself into this mess, Hermione?"

Harry tries to converse with her normally, even though she's standing behind his naked back carefully examining a mark she claims is behind his left shoulder. Exasperation shimmers off of his every cell. "I thought I fixed it for you?"

Hermione's eyes narrow, focusing on best friend's dark-haired head.

"What did you say, Harry?"

"Pansy told me that if I didn't let her... _ah_... do _things _to me, you'd have to do even more unspeakable stuff with Malfoy, Hermione! So, I let her do..._*cough*__._.. Well, anyway, I did it _all_ for you!"

"You let her do...," incredulity filled Hermione, her voice trails, "_because_ of _me_?" Honestly, would the boy put himself in any sort of dangerous situation to save someone?

Again she confronts the glaring red evidence on his shoulder, a telltale sign that she is not the _only_ one messing around with twisted serpents. With a wry smile, she spies a guilty, equally crimson, blush crawling up Harry's neck as he reproachfully hangs his head.

"Seems like you didn't mind so much, Harry," she mutters, surprised she has the nerve to pass judgement... considering. "I don't know why you believed that snaky slut! Why didn't you just ask me?" she scolds.

"She said you'd be hexed if I did."

_What a... _Hermione throws an epic hissy fit in her head while trying to maintain calm with Harry.

_Tricked!_ _She and Harry were both smarter than this! _

She groans.

"And now you've sentenced me to be Pansy's personal house elf for a whole week! AND I have to wear a Slytherin tie to the next match, while sitting with _her _in the Slytherin stands_."_

He winces.

_Coward_, she scolds herself. But it is_ so_ much easier to blame Harry and his hero complex for the mess she's made than to point at her foolishness for having agreed to this wager in the first place, and then to be so thoughtless as to leave the tie after all that blasted work!

Harry shakes his head. "It's not right, Hermione," he mumbles, "You should, I dunno, tell McGonagall, or something."

She scoffs as she puts his vest back to rights.

"And say what, exactly, Harry? Admit that we were consorting with the enemy?"

At the sound of her all encompassing, _we_, Harry's head whips around and their eyes connect.

She lowers her gaze first.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry," she replies shamefully.

There is a moment of unbearable silence. She slides to the floor, her back against the foot of the sofa, staring at _nothing_. Harry watches Hermione. Dazed, he carefully places himself next to her. The realization dawns on him that if Pansy had manipulated him into some rather compromising positions, well, then there was nothing to stop her from lying to him about Hermione.

"Hermione, did you...?"

Hermione's heart threatens to beat itself out of her chest. She turns to stare into the depths of her best friend's forest green eyes, then she lowers her head once more.

"Behind the right ear, near the pulse at his neck," she whispers, horrified by her swift admission. Harry blinks owlishly at her. She can't look at him. She simply waits for the yelling, the accusations, the reprimands.

None come. Two heartbeats later he says something that has a slow smile breaking across her face.

"She _used_ me," Harry breathes wondrously. "Merlin! I've been _used!_"

She lets out a bemused giggle at his male silliness.

"But didn't it feel devilishly good, Hermione?" His eyes slide naughtily toward her.

The color of green trees meets the warmth of rich brown soil, the twosome's connection winds even tighter together due to a shared scandalous amusement at their mutual depravity.

"_You_ have _no_ idea, Harry," she replies in a faraway voice.

"_Oh_, I think I _do_, Hermione," Harry chuckles, his sureness grounding her again.

On a sigh, he stands, muttering something about their pervy selves, then holds out a hand to help her up.

"Don't worry," Harry vows, "I'll help you, you know, get through this _thing_ with Pansy."

**

* * *

Meeting Pansy...

* * *

**

"Here at last, slave," the female Slytherin drawls, far too pleased with herself for Hermione's comfort.

"It's just a week, Pansy, get over yourself," Hermione snaps. "I can't believe you lied to Harry. You're such a cheating bitch."

"That's _witch_ to you, Mudblood," Pansy replies smoothly. "A lot can happen in a week, so you better behave yourself. You have no idea what Millicent wove into that spell."

A frisson of terror races up Hermione's spine.

"What do you mean, pug face?" Hermione inquires, getting in all the jabs she can before anything really gets started.

"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Pansy adds casually, examining her nails, "Millicent's magnificent wager spell allows that each time you talk back to me or refuse a task, I can punish your person."

"H-hit me, you mean?" Hermione's eyes widen in horror.

"Nothing so boring as beating you, Granger," is her cool reply, "Your punishment will be infinitely more creative and humiliating."

Hermione gulps.

"Oh, and there was the addition of a modified acne incantation. It is similar to the one you hexed Marietta with that one year," she smirks, "if you're not nice to me, Granger, and fail to do anything I say, you'll be wearing pimples announcing your enduring love for Draco for everyone to see. Right on that gigantic forehead of yours... And on your puffy cheeks... your skinny arms... your thick legs... your wide back... your fat arse. Six months, imagine that!" Pansy sneers at her. "How I would love to see Draco's reaction to _that._"

The Slytherin indulges in a hearty, menacing laugh. The sound is like nails on a blackboard, high and screeching.

"What if I don't care," Hermione asks, bluffing bravery, though she quakes inside.

"What?" Pansy asks, her laughter stopping abruptly.

"_He'll_ know it isn't true," Hermione says with growing conviction, "_I_ know the words aren't true. _My friends_ will know that it's not true. So, what if I don't care about the cursed acne?"

Pansy cocks her head, perplexed, worried, then, a look of pure evil appears on her face.

"Well, then, the anti-loophole clause kicks in," Pansy explains with a wide grin.

"The a-anti-loophole clause?" Hermione squeaks, thoroughly alarmed at the satisfaction on the other girl's face.

"Yes, dear," she says mockingly. "Enslavement Rings. Once I present them to you, you'll feel magically compelled to wear the lesser ring, guaranteeing your devoted servitude for the agreed upon amount of time."

Trying to keep the horror from her voice, Hermione asked, "And you were so sure you would win that you allowed Millicent to perform the spell, even with the possibility that I could do the same to _you_?"

"Granger, for a book smart bint, you are far too trusting and extremely foolish. _You_ agreed to have one of _my_ friends do the binding spell for our wager," Pansy snorted, adding an eyeroll. "How _stupid_ do you think I am?"

For once in her life, Hermione chose to keep her mouth shut. The cursed rings and everything else were far too scary to contemplate making one wrong move against Pansy.

"You're to come to the Slytherin Common Room after dinner wearing your ugliest Muggle clothes. I think they're called baggy sweats and a T-shirt. Make sure they're loose, and gross looking... _just like you_."

With a head toss and upward nose tilt, Pansy glides out of the room.

Her cackling laughter hangs in the air long after she leaves.

Hermione shudders.

**

* * *

Draco's Quarters...

* * *

**

"Pansy has a new sort of house elf and she's being a right bitch to it. Thought you might want to come take a look."

Zabini's lazy baritone interrupts another one of Draco's unexpected daydreams about a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor. Ready to snarl at his roomate, the blond Slytherin looks away from his pile of homework, loads still undone. Never has he felt less motivated to do well.

In a more demanding tone Blaise adds,"There's a lion in the snake pit, Draco, and you're the only one who can tame Pansy. Come on!"

At Draco's inquiring glare, Blaise shrugs.

"Sometimes, you talk in your sleep, mate," Zabini's response is surprisingly neutral. "So, if I were you, I'd want to keep an eye on things. And I wouldn't give a shite about anything else."

Frowning, Draco thinks of the implications of the last message as he follows Blaise out the door.

He hears a girl screeching below. He quickly recognizes the intolerably high pitch as belonging to Pansy.

_"Talk back to me one more time and I'll magically cut off more than your hair. Be thankful it'll all grow back by the end of all this. You have an hour to convince me I shouldn't take more drastic measures to make you comply."_

Draco looks confusedly to Blaise, who stops a moment to grimace at him before continuing down the stairs.

"Pansy's won the services of this new... _slave_," Blaise explains in a horrified whisper as they make their way to the common room. "And she's gone a bit barmy with power."

Anxious at the news, Draco speeds his gait to find himself confronted with a nightmarish scene.

**

* * *

Pansy's House Elf

* * *

**

Graham Montegue, whose looks make even the ugliest of Slytherins' skin crawl, gazes hungrily at Pansy's new poppet. Crabbe an Goyle sit bug-eyed beside him. Montegue wets his lips far too often for the comfort of everyone in the room. His expression is much too vulgar for public consumption, staring the way he is. Quite obscene to view, Draco shudders, turning to see what so throughly captures Graham's undivided attention.

On the floor, on all fours, is a pathetic looking creature, too wretched to be an actual person, he assures himself. It holds itself stiffly in its subservient position, head down, face facing the floor. Its hair is a decided disaster. _Is it even hair?_

_It,_ is a_ she._ The stray though hits Draco when he sees how the strange, tattered grey clothing she wears, though loose, has tightened and moulded to her pert bum due to the pose Pansy demands she remain in.

As he makes his way deeper into the room, Pansy's newly acquired plaything looks up at him.

His breath hitches.

_Granger?_

A dangerous glint of rage gleams in the brown eyes he'd only days ago gazed up into with unrepentant desire. He discovers an appallingly similar fury beginning to boil in his own veins at seeing her desecrated this way.

_Not good._

Draco works to keep the shock and violence from forming on his face. His fists clench and unclench at his sides.

"She's mine for a week!" Pansy cackles from her seat by the fire. She's lounging sideways on the armchair, her feet kicking the air with unbridled delight. "I can order her around and humiliate her all I want. She's agreed to it! Isn't that right, pet?"

At this, Draco notices the girl on the floor bristle.

"Yes, Mistress Pansy," she replies in a supplicant voice that actually does sound like a devoted house elf to its master.

Draco's jaw unhinges. Ribald laughter fills the room.

"Isn't it glorious?" Pansy crows.

When Draco first heard rumors about his ex-girlfriend's new bounty, he suspected she was going to be juevenile about the way she'd claim her winnings, but this was outlandish, _even for Pansy_. Obviously, he didn't know how twisted she must really be inside. Now realizing how deeply Granger must have gotten herself in with his ex-, Draco's Slytherin mind works overtime to try to remedy the situation.

_After all, no one but he can claim the right to humiliate Granger and order her about!_

Draco examines the room. He finds Theo glaring at Pansy. Despite her low blood status, Draco knows of his housemate's high regard for the Gryffindor brainiac. Draco watches Nott fume, the bloke's angry eyes never leave Pansy's wand. Blaise, already situated in the chair adjoining Theo's, observes the events with morbid interest. Every so often, Draco notices him scowl disdainfully at Pansy when she issues a new demand.

At Pansy's request Granger turns to make her way back to the hearth. Even in this compliant stance, he notices a sort of grace about the Gryffindor. Curious, he examines her more closely. To his horror, he discovers five red streaks across her cheek and more gruesome red slashes along her arm and neck.

Unrivaled rage bursts in his head at the sight of her skin so viciously marked.

"Did you _cut_ her?" He whirls around, shouting the accusation at Pansy so loudly that it jolts the others in the room out of their indecent fascination with watching Granger obey each of Pansy's ridiculous demands. Too many turn to watch Draco with growing interest.

"What?" an amused Pansy titters from her throne. "Gods, no. Draco! She's not a _real_ house elf! The girls in the dormitory needed to test their new lip colors. I let them use _her_. Despite the Mudblood's lowly status, she does have some rather _nice_ _skin_."

Draco notices the tremor of a threat in the blonde's casual remark. Granger, at Pansy's side, tenses.

"Oh." He let out a shaky breath and spies Granger glancing up at him curiously. He glares at her, sending her a silent warning to keep playing Pansy's ickle game. Obviously, the blonde bint was dangerously off-balance.

"Well, what are you doing with her now, Pans?" he asks, trying to appear bored.

"I'm _testing_ her," Pansy replies lightly. "You see, she's supposed to be a good ickle slave who doesn't talk and does _everything_ I say for the next, oh, hour or so." She can't seem to keep in a mean little snicker. "If she can manage to do that, then I won't use the Enslavement Rings on her."

"Enslavement Rings?"

"You know, Draco!"

_Yes_, he did know. _Dark magic, of the worst kind._

His uncle on his father's side had used them on his former wife. They were euphemistically called Renewal Rings for the married couple dealing with the messy issue of adultery. In essence, the rings brought the straying spouse to heel. They were worse than the Imperius Curse because when wearing the lesser ring, the mind stayed fully aware even though the body was doing the bidding of a very upset spouse. Or in this case, a new sadistic mistress.

_Permanent enslavement._

_No wonder Granger was being so compliant._

Draco's insides squirm as he witnesses Graham continue to grin lasciviously at the girl who, only days before, brought Draco fulfillment in a way he'd never experienced. The new, unwanted feelings she'd awakened had prompted Draco to avoid her ever since. He knew Granger earned her trophy... and then some, but he could not allow himself near her.

And now, here she was, in his Common room at the mercy of his half-crazed, ex-girlfriend.

"Well, go on! Service, Graham, Mudblood! _He's waiting_," Pansy snaps, testing to see if the stupid Gryffindor cow was so bound to her vow of servitude, or truly afraid of her rings, that she'd even do _this_ with the most brutish, hairiest Slytherin she'd ever laid eyes on. Draco's eyes rounded in horror at the obscenity of Pansy's command.

_Why was no one else doing anything to stop this profane behavior?_

Draco swept his incredulous gaze around the room. Everyone appeared frozen, watching Pansy, him, and Granger while studiously keeping their eyes averted from the increasingly disturbing sight of Montegue, Goyle and Crabbe.

It seemed no one knew exactly what to do when Granger actually started her slow crawl toward the lewd trio of Slytherins.

"Pansy, ENOUGH!" Draco's dark commandeering voice hid his rising panic as he watched Granger immediately halt her reluctant shuffle toward Montegue.

"There has to be some limit to the depravity that is allowed here," Draco announced haughtily, surprising even himself with the strength of his statement. "Dark Marks, or not, this behavior is not something any of us should engage in... _yet_."

He notices a soft sound of distress emanate from Granger's general vicinity.

"We do not know what the Dark Lord expects us to do with _her_ kind. Keep in mind, we are all still within the halls of Hogwarts. And what you are doing is _rape_, Pansy. Even though Graham is willing, she, quite obviously, is not. This alone still means Azkaban. And, if we all sit here while this occurs," he stops to keep a violent shudder from thundering through him. He notices Granger is unable to stop the terrified wracking of her body. Draco shoves away the immediate desire to comfort her by looking away and sneering at his counterparts. "We'll all be put there for aiding and abetting, you buggering idiots! And you don't want to experience _that_ place first hand! Not for a crime so base and tawdry as watching Montegue get off on a Mudblood!"

Draco knows he is grasping at straws, not to mention speaking an incredible hypocrisy, so he is surprised to see so many in the room begin nodding their agreement, despite their perverted fascination at Pansy's power play.

"Montegue, you _know_ she's of filthy blood," Draco continues his stinging reprimand. "None of us want to see this. Go take care of yourself in your room. She is not worthy to touch you."

Draco notices the girl on the floor stiffen at his last comment.

_Honestly, Granger, taking offense? Now?_

_Well, good_, Draco thinks ruefully, maybe she still won't suspect a thing.

Then he turns his attention to the blonde girl in the chair. She is pouting at him.

"Pansy. We need to talk."

* * *

"Convincing little speech there, Draco," Pansy snarls nastily once they make it out of the portrait hole, out of everyone's earshot. "Not worthy to touch a Montegue, but worthy enough to touch the likes of The Slytherin Prince?"

Draco's eyes narrow on the girl he thought he once loved enough to marry.

"Don't think I didn't notice your little souvenir, love," Pansy hisses, meanly, flicking the tender spot on his neck with her slender, well-manicured fingers.

_So, that explained the insanity. Jealousy._ Draco scoffs derisively. _Girls!_

Pansy didn't know how to interpret his small impertinent outburst. "I can only imagine how you dirtied yourself with that... that... _thing."_

She pushes open the portrait door to peek in. Together, they— she with a widening grin and he with a deepening scowl— watch the ridiculous sight of the Gryffindor princess shuffling on her hands and knees, a platter of sweets and pasties on her back. She stops at each student, making her silent offering. Apparently she'd been preforming this duty before Blaise decided to pay Draco a visit. Clearly, Pansy has no idea how the supplicant position she's ordered Granger to maintain gives rise to male instincts in the room: protect or harm. Objectively, Draco finds it interesting to watch who falls into which category.

Personally, he, discovers that resisting such sorting has turned into a brutal internal fight against his unexpected basic instincts. Being able to successfully hide such fierce conflict comes only from having been bred from birth not to show a sliver of emotion beyond disdain.

"Look at her now," Pansy whispers gleefully, "She's not so pretty anymore, is she, hmm?"

Granger travels back and forth between hearth and door to the hallway leading to the boys' dormitory. Weeks earlier, Draco might have considered her current situation quite comical, a fitting comeuppance.

Haphazard hanks of brown hair seem shorn by a dull pair of scissors. Other long lanks hang lifelessly around her face. Her muggle vest is askew, dirtied by whatever Pansy and the other girls had thrown or drawn on her earlier. The sight of the red marks streaking down her face still turns his stomach even though he knows they are relatively harmless marks.

The funny thing is, for the first time in his pampered life, Draco fails to see the humor in her humiliation. He sees, instead, something else far more disturbing and it doesn't sit very well with him. He turns to look at the classic blonde beauty beside him, shaking his head.

_She's more beautiful than you'll ever be,_ _Pansy, _he thinks to himself. _Merlin! When had he started thinking like that?_

"So, does this work like it does with the house elves? Keep articles of clothing away from her?" He inquires, feigning disinterest. "That sort of thing?"

"Sort of, but I'm not going to tell you the whole of it," Pansy grouches. "It seems you might want to help her."

"Pans," he warns.

"Oh, fine, the wager she lost is still in play. She can still provide me with the things she promised and I'll _have_ to let her go. Millicent thought it was only fair, considering," Pansy frowns peevishly. "That bird, how she ever got into Slytherin with that soft heart, I'll never know. You certainly wouldn't have guessed her merciful nature just by looking at her."

"Considering, _what_, Pansy?" Draco asks, ignoring her whining chatter.

"There were younger girls with us, Draco. For Merlin's sake! I'm not a complete monster!"

As far was he is concerned,_ that was still in question. _

"Does she know that she has this escape clause?"

The conniving look on Pansy's face made it crystal clear that she hadn't told the Mudblood a thing about it.

**

* * *

Back in the Tower

* * *

**

"Merlin, Hermione, what did she do to you?" Harry rushes over to his best friend, grabbing her into a hug. She looked like one of the pitiable homeless back in Muggle London. Her hair stuck out in alarming short tufts among the the longer bushy strands.

It seemed as though war paint had been spattered all over her and her clothes were... Harry shook his head, sorry now that he'd made good on his promise not to go storming into the Slytherin dungeons to save her. He wanted to hex them all to kingdom come.

"Nothing that can't be quickly fixed with a bath, Harry," Hermione replies assuredly, her brave voice trembled , "that and one of Lavender's glamour charms...and maybe her magicked shears, as well."

The Gryffindor girl was trying desperately to keep her tears at bay. But tonight's humiliation and the abject fear was simply too much. She'd sworn not to show any weakness in the snake pit. But all that bottled emotion that she'd held onto for hours finally starts to wash over her in waves now that she finds herself back in the security of the tower.

Harry holds her closer, tightening his arms to keep her from drowning. Ginny glares at the both of them.

"Hermione?"

"Ron?" Her head whips up. Her head feels several stones lighter with the partial absence of the weight of her long, thick hair.

"Merlin! What's going on?'

"I'm... I'm..." Hermione is confused by her loss of words. She and Harry had both earlier decided it was easier to come up with a cover story than risk Ron losing his temper and landing the lot of them in detention, or worse expulsion.

"—She's researching the plight of the house elf," Harry begins with an encouraging look at her to go on.

"Oh yes, it's a pre-graduation project that I thought I could start early!" Hermione adds semi-convincingly. "I thought I could use it to help me with building my resume, too. Since I did start S.P.E.W. and—"

"So, what, Hermione? You're _letting_ someone use you like they would a house elf?"

"Pansy Parkinson offered," Harry hurriedly admits. Hermione shoots him a look of pure annoyance. _How was that bit of information helpful?_

"And you agreed?" Ron asks incredulously. "_Pansy? _Hermione!"

"It's a sacrifice I'm making for my academic advancement and my future career!" Hermione cries and flies swiftly to the sanctity of her room. In her flight she misses how all the girls, save Ginny, turn to send her retreating back looks of supreme sorrow and compassion.

The last thing she hears from Ron is, "She's gone completely nutters, Harry!"

With her back sliding against her closed bedroom door, Hermione allows the torrent of tears to fall freely .

"Oh, Hermione!" Lavender wails flying to her new friend. "Your h-hair! Oh, Merlin! Let me help you."

And for once Hermione is happy to have discovered her roommate's brilliant talent for fixing bad haircuts and her constant upbeat chatter. Hermione thinks she's going to need a lot more of Lavender's assistance in the upcoming days if only to help her keep her chin up.

"I'm so sorry you have to go through this," Lavender tut-tuts as she evens out the terrible hack job done to her hair by the evil Slytherin slag. "I feel like this is all my fault for making you believe that you'd win against Pansy."

_But I did win!_ Hermione thinks, infuriated at the unintended put down that assumes her ineptitude at seduction. _I did win! _

**

* * *

Under Stands

* * *

**

He'd endured watching Pansy lord it over Hermione for a total of three nights. The humiliation the Gryffindor lioness had withstood at his ex's hands had been more than painful to watch. Draco had been ready to rip the blonde's head right off her body at least two dozen times. It took Blaise's steady voice to keep him calm. When Pansy did some of her worst, it took nothing short of his mate's warning grip on Draco's Mark for him not to leap to the Gryffindor's defense— a public admission that would get the both of them killed, if truth be told. Too many Slytherins were in touch with their parents for such a good deed to go unpunished.

He hated the Mudblood, to be sure, but he didn't want her killed or scarred. This protective instinct bothered him to the extreme.

He contemplates this inappropriate feeling as much as he contemplates Pansy's imminent demise.

Draco is thankful for Theo, as well. The usually solitary Slytherin had been quick to reach his breaking point at watching Granger's abasement the past two nights. When he had his fill, he hauled the wretched Gryffindor out of the common room with what basically amounted to a silent alpha command to return to her tower. For two nights he'd done this while Draco sat, mutely in the corner. Incidentally, on the first night it had been Zabini who'd tossed Granger from the room. Draco had not imagined that other Slytherin brothers might possess kindred souls.

As for Pansy, she hadn't seemed the least bit bothered when her poppet had been unceremoniously taken from her. She did, however, appear as though she was quickly tiring of her game. For those who watched more closely, Granger's quiet dignity seemed to reveal all too clearly what a vile, shallow bitch Pansy really was. To the rest, Granger's lack of simpering seemed to be the primary cause of Pansy's boredom.

One could never be sure with Pansy, though, the girl was off kilter. So Draco continued to keep silent guard, a watchful eye in the corner of the Common room, a subtle warning to Pansy not to overstep her bounds where it concerned Granger.

And now, the mid-week Quidditch match was forcing yet another form of torture for the Gryffindor bookworm. Draco knows he should be making the final arrangements for the last part of his dark task, but he came to ensure Pansy's proper behavior with the Mudblood during the game.

He had known house tensions were running intolerably high before the match of house rivals. What he hadn't realized was how much this arrangement between Pansy and Granger had affected the other houses, particularly among the females who openly sided with the Gryffindor. This animosity crystallizes when the mere sight of Granger wearing a Slytherin scarf being harangued by Pansy causes such a furor that the slightest Slytherin mistep on the field provides the flimsiest excuse that has the whole mess of incensed girls, followed closely by their more brawny housemates, swarming the silver and green side of the pitch.

Even Madam Hooch can do precious little without the presence of the Headmaster and the other Heads of Houses who had converged at the castle in a meeting regarding confidential matters.

It is sizing up to be a brawl that will go down in the History of Hogwarts and for once, Draco is not in the thick of things. Even so, he keeps his eyes trained on the slight, curly-haired girl, the only Gryffindor sporting a scarf for Slytherin. She is in the middle of the massive melee and he allows himself to worry for her physical safety now that the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs join the pile-up.

A large figure enters the scene and, suddenly, Draco is running, feeling the sharp drag on his lungs, pulling in air as his long lean legs pump full force. At once, he is airborne, jumping into the fray.

SMACK.

His head swings backwards as soon as he lands, the blow knocks him back on his heels.

_Pucey had always been rubbish at throwing punches_. _It would figure he would try to hit a helpless female, _Draco thinks, enraged.

Ignoring the radiating pain at his jaw, he growls, turning to grab at Granger before she flees. He is infuriated that he had come to harm trying to protect her idiot self. His hand grabs hold of the closest thing that might make her stay put. Thankfully, his fingers thrust into the soft halo of short curls surrounding her head. He closes his fist. She cries out as he pulls—

_Hard_.

Watery, pained brown clash with angry, heated grey– a flash of recognition, an instant of caution in her shocked stare. His other hand reaches for the sleeve of her robe. When he finds purchase, he lets go of her short mane and is rewarded with a look full of questions, but, thankfully, not fear.

He snatches up his wand, places a hasty glamour charm on himself, then rips away his own green scarf while turning to snag a crimson and gold one off the shoulders of some unknown falling Gryffindor. He throws the repugnant muffler around his neck and pulls her toward the now emptied Gryffindor stands.

"Come on!" he roars above the shouts and fighting, willing her not to be stubborn_ just this once_. He is not sure how long his glamour will hold and he does not want to be caught red-handed with Granger's soft hand clasped so willingly in his.

_When had that happened?_

Hidden beneath the cover of the stadium bleachers, they find relief. Breathing hard, they both threaten to fall into hysterics. To ground himself, Malfoy grabs her up into his arms.

_Brave, foolish girl._

He crushes her against him, pushing her back against one of the thick columns holding up the seats to hide her away from curious eyes.

She wiggles against him and he looks down.

She is giggling. Her eyes, full of mirth, are aimed up at him. _A new experience._ He sucks in a quick breath at the unbelievable sight of her. In response to her delighted feminine sounds, his lips kick up into a reluctant smile.

"What?" he whispers, confused.

She smothers another laugh, pressing her face into his chest. Her hands clutch at his cloak. His heart beats wildly.

"You're sporting Weasley red," she manages between stifled laughter, her voice muffled by his clothes. "Complete with freckles."

The name she speaks angers him and he immediately despises his quick glamoured disguise.

"I'm not him," he grinds out through clenched teeth, his hand grabs up her chin, wanting to shake her.

Her laughter immediately subsides. A half smile remains.

"I'm not him, Granger," he growls, forcing himself to ease his grip.

"I know that," she comforts softly, the mirth quickly leaving her eyes.

"Who am I, Granger?"

"You're..." she stops to ponder him, remembering how he'd stuck up for her and all the small ways he'd tried to ensure she wasn't thoroughly humiliated these last three days. She remembers his quiet presence each night, ensuring her overall safety. She lifts her chin higher, shaking off his grip, to completely capture his demanding, silver gaze.

"You're you, Draco," she replies with conviction, her eyes lock onto his.

A mercurial flash in his grey depths indicates to her that the sound of his name falling from her lips reveals a promise to him that she's not sure she can keep— not without something more than _this_ from him.

He can feel the steady beat of her heart pounding against his chest. He pulls her away from the wooden column to run his hand up and down her back, feeling the incredibly curvy softness of her body beneath her blasted layers. The scent of pumpkin juice, the return of her rose-tipped scent, the smell of newly mown grass and the earthy scents around him form a heady mixture.

"Do you want me to be _him_, Granger?"

She stares silently up into a face that is almost familiar, one that slightly resembles a red-headed boy she once thought she could love. She shifts her eyes away from the intensity of this boy's stare, wrapping herself around _his_ body, one she knows far too intimately. A lithe, muscular body with a far different heart than the first—one full of murky shadows, a place where she had, and perhaps still does, fear to tread.

Slowly she looks up at him again.

"No," she replies with a catch in her voice, "Right now, I don't want to be with anyone else but _you_," she breathes.

She meets his shocked, searching gaze. He registers the feel of her fingers touching and grabbing hold of the fastening of his cloak, pulling him nearer. In some distant part of his mind a persistent, accusatory voice intrudes on the moment.

_It isn't that _she_ is not good enough for _you_,_ it jeers.

He'd witnessed her uncomplainingly endure Pansy and his more cruel house mates' ridicule. And she'd done it with such unshakable nobility which, in his estimation, only served to further lessen the character of his fellow purebloods, but also managed to elevate the courageous others who gave voice to Draco's own desires to guard her.

_The truth, Draco,_ the hissing voice surmises, _is that _you_ are not good enough for _her.

Draco pointedly ignores the interfering voice. For him, time halts and in this stolen moment, for just an instant, he gives himself the rarefied gift of allowing himself to savor the beautiful, courageous, and passionate strength of her— this good witch of ignoble birth.

Being the selfish scoundrel that he is, Draco knows his new intent will go against every sane thought in his head, all that he was taught at his father's knee. Yet, he will continue on with his mad desire despite its fearsome consequences.

Greedily, he threads his fingers through her short riot of curls, disarranging the pretty halo, so carefully arranged by her stalwart friends who had helped her keep up appearances despite her humiliating nighttime duties in the dungeons. He silently gives thanks to those in her life who wish her safe and are openly able to keep her so.

He cups the back of her head in a secure grip. His nose brushes softly against hers...

... and his mouth finds hers at last.

At first, the kiss is gentle and cool. He discovers her lips pursed under his, ready for a soft, fleeting buss from an equally green beau. He smiles at her sweetness considering all that has come to pass between them. He responds to her virtuous offering by slanting his head, giving attentive care to tutor her with his lips. His lessons invite her to relax and receive the adoration of his mouth. He takes his time, tasting, slowly turning his lips over and over hers.

"Draco?"

Against his mouth, she sighs his name, a question she discovers she does not know the answer to. Baffling the Know-It-All releases a glorious something previously chained within him, allowing it space to ready itself before soaring free. Her eyes capture his. He swears he can see into her soul and he wants to close his own to the purity within her. It is blinding, beckoning his meager, undeserving heart to join hers.

_Merlin, Granger._

In a quicksilver moment his gentle exploring mouth becomes searingly hot, rubbing insistently against hers until her lips fall open, surprised by the sudden force of his need. Hermione quivers with astonishment at the unexpected intrusion of his wet, demanding tongue. Bewildered and alarmed by the sudden intimacy, she pushes at his chest until he reluctantly lifts his head to gaze hungrily at her. There are flares of longing in the depths of his eyes, so intense in their glow. It pains her to witness how much he fiercely needs _this_, worried that the vast empty darkness he reveals to her might be impossible for any one person to fill.

"Tell me again how you much you want me to kiss you, Granger," he urges, needing her to repeat her desire for him, and just him. "Tell me you need me..."

_... to be better than I am._

"What are you doing?" she demands, eyes big and round in her face. "I thought you didn't want _this_."

All at once, she discovers his previously unrevealed reasons for refusing her kiss that night. She knows because they quickly become the very reasons for her own refusal of his advances now. He feels her panicked movements as she starts to struggle in his embrace. He gentles.

"Easy, Granger, he breathes into her tousled curls, "Easy. All I want to do is hold you."

"But this isn't—"

"Let me hold you."

Slowly she relaxes against him. He wants to help her forget there exists a world outside the circle of his arms. He wants this so desperately, so that she, in turn, can help him forget the total eclipse that threatens to snuff out the light within them all. He touches his lips against her temple and crowds her more closely against him.

"Kiss me, again," he demands, a seductive whisper spoken against her ear.

_Spoiled prat._

Rebellion flashes in the depths of her muddy brown eyes. She twists aside her face, presenting her profile to him. He grabs up her chin again, forcing her to stare at the anguish in his scowling face. The brooding sombre he had been hiding threatens to shadow the sweet desire of their previous meeting of mouths. He grinds the length of his body against hers. He wants.

She cannot respond to this. Not after _that_. And in realizing so, Draco's despair has him dropping his forehead to hers.

"Tell me you want me to kiss you again, Granger," he asks, more softly this time. Noses touch, his mouth millimeters away. She can scarcely believe this is happening.

_How is this happening?_

Bravely Hermione dares another step forward into the unknown.

"Say _my_ name," she demands.

"Granger," he growls in warning.

"My _first_ name, Ferret," she replies, her voice more sure than the fluttering hope in her heart.

Ducking his head, he smirks at her tone, and the moment for a different sort of intimacy is lost. She feels the release of his arms and does not know how to respond to this. So she watches. There is a rustling of his cloak and the far-off shriek of Madam Hooch's whistle in the distance.

With vague interest, she witnesses his hand climb the breadth of his chest to stop at his neck. Wordlessly, he deliberately unknots his tie. His adept fingers take care to roll it so the small, silver rendition of the Malfoy crest is carefully ensconced in the green and silver striped silk. He grabs up her hand and purposefully places the roll in her outstretched palm. His fingers grab onto hers, curling them gently around the softness of the rich material.

"It's not too late, Bookworm. Use it to get out of this _thing_ with Pansy," he orders.

Her face registers surprise. He takes her other hand and touches her fingers to the mark he's unsure is still lingering beneath his ear. He leans lower, presenting himself to her.

"Check, Bookworm," he advises softly. His breath brushes her cheek, she gulps. "If it's gone, mark me again."

Surprise turns to shock. He is intrigued by this.

_How can she believe that I hadn't known? I'd all but ensured she would win, but_, he sighs at how easily her passions control her._ I thought I might give her another chance to win, once I contained certain uncomfortable feelings, but seeing her every night... I just never imagined Pansy would win their ridiculous bet so early!_

_Potter is such a slag!_

"Malfoy?" Her head is bent. Bewildered, she stares at the tie in her hand.

He finds he already misses her use of his given name.

"You forgot to take it, Granger," his voice gravelly. "That night."

She shakes her head, lifting to look at him. Her eyes are even wider than before. She wants to refuse it, knowing what it will cost them both if she presents this to his housemates. What's worse, she know what it will cost her if she doesn't. Hermione stretches her hand with his offering out to him again. He shakes his head and closes her hand more tightly around his masculine accessory.

"I don't need it," he smiles, not unkindly, but sad... determined. "And you do."

Silver turns to pewter. Unreadable. So Slytherin. So heartbreakingly handsome.

His gaze does not leave hers as his strong graceful fingers slide the Slytherin scarf away from her, exposing her neck to the early spring's nipping air. His hand reaches out to smooth across the graceful length of her throat. She shivers.

His eyes smile, but his mouth does not.

"Leave Hogwarts, this weekend," his whisper is a command that brooks no argument. "Don't follow Potter."

He leaves the questions in her eyes unanswered but she recognizes the concern and fear in his.

Regretfully, he pulls away again. The wand in his hand touches to his hair.

"_Finite Incantantum._"

Red turns silvery blond. The freckles disappear with the return of his alabaster skin.

The refined son of the aristocrat is restored.

She scrutinizes the young man in front of her. She'd touched his body in places that still cause her to blush when she remembers. The heated gaze he returns tells her he wouldn't mind letting her do it again. But this is not the time, nor the place. And to her extreme distress she realizes that she does not want to touch him without his acceptance, too, of the essence that is her.

"Leave me," he commands quietly.

When she doesn't move, his tone turns brusque.

"Go, Granger. Run away."

Draco sees the stubborn hesitation in her unblinking gaze. He reaches out, intending to push her, but to their utter amazement he instead gently touches a finger to her lips.

Wistful.

"I'm no good for you, Mudblood," he whispers, the epithet unexpectedly turns endearment.

He longingly traces the contours of the graceful lines of her face, as if memorizing her. He stops the mapping of this lovely topography when he at last reaches her eyes. He catches a glimpse of the heart-stopping vision there— eyes that hold such hope, defiance, and... _innocence_.

He grimaces at having sullied some of that.

Her lids flutter shut, his fingers are batted by her soft sable lashes. He lets out a shaky breath when he feels a wetness beneath his fingertips.

"Please, just go," he urges, his voice cracking in desperation.

Something sharp twists in his chest when she whips her face away. He steps back, his hand drops and he feels emptiness in the space where she had been.

With a broken sob, she flees without a backwards glance.

Regretfully, he witnesses her hurried departure, an inky black and brown smudge against a background of early spring green.

Firming his mouth, his thoughts hold only ones of her.

_Good girl._

_

* * *

_

_**Author's Note:**_

_Draco has just whispered in my ear, reminding me that I must give my thanks to __MysticFirefly and__Sketchai__ for the amusing, even disturbing, story ideas that I have incorporated in this chapter— hopefully, in a way that pleases them. An additional shoutout to all the lovely people at GE and __aviddaydreamer__, here, who encouraged and inspired my inner "M" writer in the first place, thus prompting this renewed visit to Muddy goodness._

**Poll about how I should end this piece is still up on my profile. Please vote if you have a strong opinion one way of the other! **


	5. To Save a Snake

**To Save a Snake**

**

* * *

**

His hair was almost silver, bathed in the moonlight the way it was.

Five years of successfully avoiding him and tonight, after only one full day of finally deciding she would be just fine with a reality that was the embodiment of the glass half-empty and a love life that was destined to end without a happily ever after...

he returned—

like a rampaging bull, beautiful in his enraged masculinity.

_Malfoy._

_Stupid git._

As she waited for the professional Healers to come, Hermione longed to run her fingers through his silky strands, but she dared not touch him while she kept watchful observance. She was too afraid that if she caved into her desires, he might prove not to actually be there.

So instead, she looked her fill of him from afar, while he lay unconscious on the pavement, cushioned and warmed by those helpful charms she'd learned out of a desperate need to surive on the battlefield. She didn't want to move him, afraid as she was that she might worsen his injuries.

Despite the war's positive outcome for the likes of Muggleborns and their brethren, there were still some truly vile beings still fighting in Voldemort's name. Hermione likened these dark die-hards to Muggle skinheads: dangerous, ignorant bigots, the lot of them. Unfortunately, having been such a prominent soldier in the fight against their Dark Lord, Hermione had been an easier target than most.

After a year of general safety, however, she'd finally convinced her friends that she could take care of herself and all of them had been lulled into a sense of safety. A lull calm enough for Hermione to at last feel comfortable in her own skin, able to enjoy solitary time that had been a blessed rarity in recent years.

Earlier in the day, she'd taken leave of Harry at an eatery in Daigon Alley. She and Ron were still having difficulty and she hoped the awkwardness between them would be over soon. As she tried to wipe away the memories of her short-lived romance with Ron, Hermione whiled away the afternoon at Flourish & Blotts collecting the newest texts to further her knowledge on magical creatures.

When she'd at last stepped out of the store the sun was setting and there were precious few people on the street. Before any tingling suspicion of being watched could ripple across her spine, she was ripped from the street, her bag torn from her and her new books scattered across the cobblestones. She fought tooth and nail against her assailants but was pulled into Knockturn Alley by strong, burly, extremely hairy hands and there, they'd been met with two other threatening figures.

"We're going to finish what should have been done years ago in the Slytherin Common Room, Mudblood," came the menacing voice. He'd groped her then and she was screaming and kicking, digging her fingernails into any flesh she could lay hands on. She was reduced to the soldier in her once more, fighting with every ounce of strength to protect herself. She was outnumbered. They were stronger and her wand was out of reach in its hidden holster.

As she'd been shoving off three pairs of punishing hands, her frightened tears and anger blinded her to everything but self preservation. She'd barely been able to see the faces of her attackers, horrifyingly familiar ones, when somehow he magically appeared.

"Montegue, get your filthy hands off her," the threat in his icy command clear, a voice from the past that had her heart skittering.

"You don't order us around anymore, Draco," came an irritated female voice that had ice running through Hermione's veins. Hermione felt what must have been Montegue's ham-like hands hesitating at ripping the remaining material of her robes away from her. At the same time, sharp talons dug deeper into her arm.

"What is it about this Mudblood that always kept you coming to her aid?" Montegue demanded, turning his wand on Draco. Hermione felt Montegue's hand stray onto her bared flesh and instantly recoiled at his smarmy touch. "Maybe she's got something under these robes that you want, Malfoy, you self-serving blood traitor. And I mean to take it." With that, Montegue grabbed her crudely where once she had been adored. She yelped in both pain and protest before Pansy hexed her with a Silencio!

At the lewd grope and threat, Hermione witnessed Malfoy growl and something dark snap in Malfoy's eyes. He cursed and attacked, diving at the dark-haired Montegue with a complete disregard to the clear disadvantage he had to the darker one's size and weight. Hermione was aghast at the ferocity of the fight that broke out, so terribly unfair in the ratio of three against one. Flashing wand light shot like lightening, sped along by unspoken dark curses. Hermione broke free of her captors when she sensed they were unable to keep from assisting Montegue against Draco, a much more agile, lithe and practiced dueler. As Hermione twisted out of their grip, she managed to grasp on to her holstered wand, casting out her own non-verbal curses to keep Malfoy safe.

When it seemed he was in the most peril, Hermione raced headlong to Draco's side. And when he saw the malicious gleam in Pansy's eye at seeing Hermione so driven by compassion that she'd left herself unguarded, Malfoy knew the next hex from Pansy's wand was meant for Granger. He hurled a_Protego_ over the girl he'd meant to protect, shot off a dark curse at Montegue, and then, when he saw that Pansy was determined to hurt the brown-haired witch, Draco leapt onto Hermione, taking on the brunt of a curse he didn't know existed.

He'd knocked Hermione to the ground, forcing the breath out of her. Hermione counted herself fortunate that her head hadn't bounced against the pavement. She took a moment to suck in air and from her prone position, pinned beneath Malfoy, she struggled to wield her wand. When she was at last able to point it correctly, she turned to discover the welcome sight of the three retreating figures lurching away. The hexes that Malfoy had shot at them as he fell were indeed disfiguring. The screeching howl that signaled Pansy's exit was pure pleasure to Hermione's vengeful ears. Safe now, she lay back a moment to fully recover her breath.

After Hermione had taken several painful drags of the putrid air of the alley, she tried to shake Malfoy back to consciousness. She fought frantic hysterics when he remained unmoving. Trying to maintain calm despite the terror that raced to grip her, Hermione managed to gingerly roll out from under his surprisingly heavy weight. She turned him around and like she did during the war, cleared herself of all emotion and performed some quick medical assessments with the little bit of Healer training she obtained before demanding her place at the front lines. She tried not to feel anything when she took stock of Malfoy's injuries. She'd done this hundreds of times before, and just like those times, she decided to use her wand to send off the distress call.

Then, she waited.

Hermione had been fretting for what seemed like hours, sitting in silence, listening to the disturbing rattle of each of Malfoy's inhalations.

_What was taking so long?_

Hermione shifted against the building's cold stone wall, her eyes never left him.

He'd stupidly taken the brunt of a dark spell that had been meant for her. It was only because of him that she wasn't in his place now, quite possibly she'd have been much worse off considering what Montegue had been intent on doing to her. A violent shudder passed through her, she pulled her tattered robes more closely around her as tears seeped down her cheeks. To stem the terrified wails that grabbed at her throat, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and rocked back and forth on the pebbly ground. She kept herself sane by looking at him, her would-be hero.

_Malfoy to the rescue._

A fallen angel.

His closed eyelids were translucent. They fluttered while he slept in the magically induced coma she'd been forced to place him under. His blond lashes did little to cover the dark circles just beneath. His jaw clenched and unclenched despite the calming enchantment. She grimaced at the sight of an ugly bruise just starting to form beneath his evening stubble.

_Five years._

Having gone against Malfoy's long ago plea that would have had her turning her back on her best friends and a cause that consumed her, Hermione thought she'd already experienced the worst sort of terror. But she was wrong. Nothing compared to this paralyzing fear that he, this childhood enemy turned almost lover, might not make it out of this alive.

Five _long_ years.

The first year was spent doing exactly the opposite of what he'd asked of her under the quidditch pitch stands. The next two were spent in all too public combat against the dark forces that refused to give up the fight. She'd given of herself ten times over trying to preserve the good that Harry and the Light had won with the defeat of Voldemort.

The past two years were spent in private combat couched within a dead-end relationship that started with a misbegotten kiss.

And throughout it all, Malfoy rarely strayed from her thoughts. In fact, Hermione had gotten used to taking comfort in knowing he was alive and well. She'd gathered up news of him like a bird preparing a nest.

And after that horrendous day last March when she'd decided to refuse Ron's proposal of marriage, Hermione had come to the godawful conclusion that Malfoy would always ever be a presence in her life. Whether she liked it or not, Draco had become for her, the part of the moon that fades into blackness— invisible, despite it always still being there.

And woefully, at the most inopportune times, he emerged behind that veil of black to shine brightly in her memories. So bright and full it took her breath away.

She'd once gazed on twittering yellow canaries and even the occasional sight of a cloud's silver lining recalled the night that started it all.

Library bookcases that reached high to the ceiling and the comfort of a leather bound book in her hands recalled a darkened area of the restricted section where she learned of her own desires for a taste of the forbidden.

The smell of freshly mown grass at Ron's first professional quidditch match, and the nip of an early spring breeze acted a pensieve that dragged her straight back to the late afternoon when she'd given her heart away.

Red hair and freckles made her ache at the memory of her very first kiss, offered to the tortured boy who'd held her in the shadows while all the rest of the world had been on the cusp of a mighty war between Light and Dark.

The confounding mystery of the Draco she couldn't forget, the very one that couldn't be reconciled with the cruel persona he'd presented to her in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, was woven into the silver and green tie still lying at the bottom of her heavily warded school trunk. A safety net he provided, one that she never did use.

It proved unnecessary since Pansy had in fact noticed how Hermione's presence affected the boys of her House and decided she did not like the changes...not one bit. So, the night they'd all received appropriate detentions for the afternoon brawl, Pansy had informed Hermione that her slave services were no longer welcome in the dungeons.

But that only meant the female Slytherin made life a living hell for Hermione for four more days out of sight from anyone who might want to play hero. It had been humiliating to be sure, but not so demeaning as to have Hermione racing to show the tie to the girl who could have had Draco seriously harmed for the transgression of consorting with a Mudblood.

And, of course, it was just the other day that Hermione had been unable to move at the sound of Harry clicking a lock in their flat. The tiny metallic strike dragged up old questions that swirled in her head about a night when she was sure she'd been calling all the shots only to discover the boy had known her ploy along—and in his own way, had tried to help her win her cause.

A truly selfless sacrifice that had been, she thought wryly, unable to keep a satisfied smile from straying to her lips.

She thought proudly again of Malfoy's head thrown back in passion, the euphoric release she brought him that covered her fingers. In the seclusion of the dark alley, she dared to take in the full masculine length of him once more. With feminine approval, she took note of how the last five years had added more muscle and strength to his overall build, giving him the weight of a full grown man.

A gasping sound tore past Malfoy's throat, ripping her out of her lusty thoughts. His labored rasp was so alarming that it had Hermione shooting her hand out to place it on his chest, more broad now than she remembered.

At her touch, he calmed visibly. The wracking subsided and he still did not wake. Curling her fingers into the front of his vest, Hermione longed to see his mercurial gaze on her. Pulling herself away from the solidity of the stone wall, Hermione edged closer, dipping her mouth to his ear.

"Please, Malfoy," she pleaded, her voice choked. "Please be OK."

As she lifted her head from beside his, her tear-stained eyes were greeted by the welcome sight of Healers from St. Mungo's.

* * *

Hermione stayed at his bedside for nearly a week. He was there because of her and she desperately needed to make sure he knew how thankful she was by being there when he awoke. She simply refused to leave.

After six days she'd nearly cursed the entire staff. He still hadn't woken and the Healers had tried to assure her that she'd done the right thing by placing him in a deep sleep so his body could heal and he'd be spared the worst of the shock that came after the dark curse hit him.

Hermione's friends, even Ron, had been taking turns keeping vigil alongside her. They were there despite their inability to understand why she bothered.

Yes, Malfoy had rescued her.  
Yes, that was admirable.  
Yes, it seemed uncharacteristic, but any decent fellow would have intervened.  
And, yes, who would have thought Malfoy, of all people, would turn out to have a decent streak?

But, Hermione, they'd cried, why keep vigil over some bigoted git who probably didn't even know it was you who he saved from harm?

Why watch over the self-appointed Slytherin prince who caused all of them so much anguish in school, brought Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and was nearly thrown into Azkaban?

And if that wasn't enough, why remain when _Malfoy_ was the very vile arse who took such particular pleasure in demeaning the best of her all those years ago?

When Hermione remained unusually silent to their questions, they clucked and whispered amongst themselves that her Florence Nightingale tendencies must be all due to her need to forget about the misery she was in after the debacle of Ron. So, they let her play nursemaid.

It was harmless.

After all, they had decided, Malfoy was in a coma. They patted her, fed her, clothed her, and hoped this was a passing phase, brought on by the need to immerse herself in the care of someone or something outside of herself for a little while. They just needed to ensure she took care of herself while she waited for him to wake up and prove himself to be the monumental pureblooded prick they all knew him to be.

They were wrong, of course. Hermione just couldn't find it within herself to relieve them of their assumptions.

No one knew of what had almost been between Malfoy and her. No one, except Harry. He had an inkling of what had transpired between lion and snake five years ago. After all, a man, no matter how dense or preoccupied with saving the wizarding world, does not spend nearly half a year traipsing the continent alone with a female without knowing where her heart truly lies.

When it had all come to an end, Harry decided to help save Draco from Azkaban with testimony that saved his former nemesis from imprisonment. Truth be told, Draco had not wanted Harry's help in the least, but Harry's devotion to Hermione's happiness was what brought him to the hearings in the first place.

Because of Harry's unyielding refusal to let it alone, Draco had been forced to reveal his secret role with the Order. Apparently, Draco had chosen the side he fought for, albeit shrouded in secrecy. Harry had brought evidence from Snape revealing how Draco, the son of a Death Eater, had been Snape's protege, taking on the position left vacant upon his mentor's demise at the hands of Voldemort. It had been a secret the younger Malfoy had been willing to bring to his grave and a point he remained adamant about that no one outside of the courtroom know the truth of his involvement in the fight against The Dark Lord.

After all was said and done, Draco was set free. Wealth and scandalous legacy intact.

Harry had broken his vow of silence, and revealed what he'd known about the Slytherin to Hermione, when she'd sought Harry's comfort on the night she refused Ron. She'd been brutal in her self-flagellation, tearfully confessing what had occurred between herself and Malfoy during sixth year to him. Harry couldn't bear to keep silent about what he knew of Malfoy in light of her guilt over her feelings for the Ferret. So, he told her what he knew of the man in an attempt to assure his best friend that her instincts about Malfoy being good were spot on.

But she refused to believe.

How could Draco be the man Harry claimed him to be, she'd demanded, when the public image he held to, the one that gilted the gossip rags, continued to portray him the womanizing ne'er-do-well, wealthier than Croesus, untouchable by mere wizards and witches, never mind those of less noble birth. And if that weren't enough, as far as most were concerned, the infamy still associated with the Malfoy name was enough to make him a social pariah wherever he went.

And yet, here she was, unable to leave the bedside of the man she should hate.

While her friends conferred, she sat as she always did, staring vacantly at his blond head. And then he moved. Hermione titled her head and inched closer. She noticed a change in his expression. His face seemed more... alive.

His eyelids fluttered and his breathing deepened. He tossed his head restlessly against the pillow she'd only moments before fluffed. And within moments, his eyes opened. Confusion etched on his features as he fought to focus on the hazy image in front of him.

When it all came into focus, Malfoy wished for nothing more that the blessing of unconsciousness again.

_Where in Merlin's name were Zabini and Nott?_

Malfoy groaned.

Potter. Longbottom. Lovegood. Weasley, times three.

and... _Granger_.

_Damn it all to bloody hell._

Malfoy's extreme discomfort was immediately noticeable to Hermione. He appeared unable to look at her and her friends. She moved quickly to his side, gathering his limp hand in the warmth of hers. She noticed with a prick of sadness that his fingers did not curl into holding hers. Despite this, she continued to grasp his cold, unwelcoming hand.

"Malfoy! Thank goodness you're alright!" she gasped, calling the others' attention to the man in the bed.

_Now, that's not a line I'd expect to hear considering the company_, Draco would have liked to say, but his voice, long unused, refused to be spoken aloud. He scowled unhappily at the inability to offer a scathing reply.

Seeing his obvious discomfort, Hermione brought the patient some water and with as much dignity as he could summon while prone in a loose hospital robe, Draco sipped at the straw, clearing his throat to relieve himself of the sandpapery feel.

Silence abounded, save his throat clearing.

"It was good of you to save Hermione, Malfoy," Harry offered lamely when the quietness in the room became unbearable. A chorus of the same invaded his ears from the rest gathered in the room. Malfoy grimaced and his gaze swung between Potter and the girl he thought he'd never have to deal with again.

"I was simply there," came his rough reply. "It appeared she needed assistance. Anyone would have done the same."

Ginny ruefully murmured her agreement with the statement. Hermione loosened her grip a little, unaware that she'd held onto an outrageous hope. She didn't notice Draco dart a quick glance at her when he felt the change of pressure.

"Montegue will never play professional quidditch again, and Pansy has confined herself to Parkinson Manor. The papers report her to be too hideous looking for words. The two will go to trial, along with Goyle within the week, but Hermione refuses to put in formal charges," Longbottom added, also trying to fill the silence with words. "We don't know why."

Draco turned to stare openly at the brunette. She was still at his side and to everyone's discomfort but hers, she still hadn't relinquished his hand.

"Granger?"

She was shocked out of her thoughts when he called her. "Why not file a formal report?"

"You seemed to have already provided them with enough punishment for the rest of their lives," she replied. Her gaze averted to the open window.

"They'll get what they deserve in a week if I have anything to do with it. Nevertheless, you should be properly honored for saving our friend," Ginny bit out, none too kindly. He ignored the She-Weasel.

"I want to thank you for your help, Malfoy," Hermione said more quietly, almost intimately. Ron squirmed visibly. "You appeared just when I thought I lost. It was good of you to... _assist_."

Then, she smiled crookedly at him.

And his heart leapt.

He wanted to return her upturn of lips, to gather her in his arms to assure himself of her well-being but he was amid her friends and that alone was too much to bear. Malfoy was sickened by the thanks he was receiving, he felt wholly undeserving of the hand that held his and the look of happiness and again the... _hope_... that he witnessed in her eyes.

Malfoy knew he was in the presence of true heroes, after all wasn't it Potter who'd rid the Wizarding world of Voldemort? Even Neville had played the part by killing that vile snake. Weasely, Potter's ever-present sidekick, remembered what Basilisk fangs could do to evil soul carrying trinkets. His sister daring to steal the Sword of Gryffindor and their brother bearing the cost of the war in the death of his twin.

And Granger, Malfoy's mouth twisted, mimicking the pain now prevalent in his chest. She deserved the man she'd chosen...

Not _him._

"I find it deeply ironic to be considered a hero for doing something that I have no stomach for," Malfoy replied, a sneer barely audible in his tone. In truth, Draco found it near impossibly to speak the words. It had been horrifying to have had been caught up in such anger, lashing out curses against people he'd known all his life. One-time _friends._ How could what he'd done to those two, as repulsive as they were, be considered remotely heroic?

"What I did was unconscionable. I've maimed them for life, without a second thought. Though you might think it just desserts, it is not the lawful way of going about things," he added. "I don't know how you all survived the fighting. In comparison, I did nothing worth comment."

The others stood there, confused as to how to continue. Harry, for the first time in his life perhaps, sympathized with the man on the bed.

"What are you yammering about, Ferret?" Ron gnashed. A hushing sound from George stopped the vehement tone and Harry ushered all but Hermione out of the room. For that Malfoy and Hermione discovered themselves thankful.

"What day is it?" he asked when they were finally alone.

"Friday," she replied succinctly. "You've been asleep for a week. Pansy used a dark curse that the Healers knew the counter-curse too, thank, Merlin."

"_Pansy_ did this to me?"

"Well, she tried to do it to _me_," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "You just jumped in the way."

Her eyes shone with gratitude and it made him uncomfortable as hell.

"Don't make me into something I'm not, Granger," Malfoy warned darkly, his face scowling, stubborn in his ferocity that he'd did nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm not a hero. I'm just a regular wizard, just like any other, perhaps a lot worse."

"But you are a hero, Draco," she whispered, sitting herself next to his hip, still clasping his hand, now in her lap.

With the sound of his name and the entreating look on her face, it seemed all at once vitally important to him that he hear what she had to say.

She inhaled, then exhaled as if gathering her strength before speaking her thoughts.

"You went to face Him, and risked your life for m— magical people like me. You went against your father's beliefs. You came back alive and you managed not to disgrace yourself. Some might say it takes a certain amount of talent and skill to stay alive the way you did.

"I imagine it helped that you were raised by a father who expected you to do your duty. Lucius also, through his actions, taught you how to stay alive. And, through your own power and desire, you learned how to keep others alive, as well," she paused, running her free hand to rest on his heart. "That's heroism, Malfoy, even if you won't believe it of yourself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he voiced his denial while cursing Potter for his inability to keep his mouth shut. He shifted under the weight of her palm on his chest.

"You're quite good at noticing things, too," she added, ignoring his belligerence. "You saved my life," she said softly, bringing her hand to caress his jaw, where the last remnants of a bruise were fading to green. He flinched away from her touch and her heart wept. "I wasn't cursed because you noticed something," she continued, bullishly. "Isn't that true?"

"Oh, that? That was just a reflex," he replied obstinantly, refusing to look at the trust in her expression. "It was simply some male instinct to throw my body on top of a woman."

She tipped her head back in exasperation. Then slowly lowered her gaze once more to meet his. She saw how he hid his emotions behind the grey fog that latched onto her chocolate brown.

"At least I'm a person to you, now. A female, even— not just some filthy Mudblood," she countered, a hint of annoyance and teasing in her tone. "That's called _growth_, Malfoy."

"If you say so, Granger," he retorted grumpily, pushing himself back into his cushions, wishing her gone. He watched the tiny frown form on her lips. While he wanted to send her away, his thirsty gaze drew her in. He never thought he'd be presented with the sight of her so close again.

Her ridiculously wild hair framed her delicate heart shaped face. Diabolical of her to tempt a man like that, he thought. She really ought to pay more attention to the condition of the mess on her head. Those curled tresses of hers drew his attention to the fragility of her throat and reminded him of the few times he'd touched her and claimed her lips and that very throat as his own.

He knew that if he kept thinking like this he would be quite embarrassingly exposed under the thin hospital issue sheet, so he decided for his own good to pay attention to what she was saying.

"... You could have been killed when you threw your body over mine. And then all my work to rescue you would have been for naught."

It was his turn to frown. He was still thoroughly annoyed that she'd left herself open to attack in her attempt to help him in the fight. The good soldier that she was should have known better. It was _his_ presence that made her careless. She was far too stupidly courageous and compassionate for her own good.

"Oh, very well then, I was heroic," Draco conceded magnanimously, suddenly tired of the talk. "And please forgive my careless and selfish disregard for_your_ work."

Startled, she laughed, then. And the sound seemed to surprise them both. Laughter had been far too rare a thing in the last five years.

Hermione had a rather lovely laugh, Malfoy decided. Genuine and feminine, unrestrained when she let herself be. Each trill had him feeling as though he'd won the Triwizarding Cup and captured the snitch against Potter. The exhilaration coursed through him and the joy he felt held an innocence of younger years and was completely out of proportion to the current reality of al that landed him in his hospital bed.

Funny the things he'd come to be grateful for over these past years. It seemed laughter from a girl who he'd long thrown out of his life was now counted among the top three.

He'd always known Granger was exasperating. She was the one person he could not seem to forget, though Merlin knows he tried. Women, drink, fast broom, faster life— all in a vain effort to scourge this witch from his memory. But she remained there as stubborn in his psyche as she was in real life, a scar that never healed.

Even as a younger man, he knew she was different, that she would leave her mark on him and that is why he had forced her to go.

When she touched him again, he winced.

"Are you in pain?" she cried, suddenly anxious.

He smiled boyishly at her concern.

"If I was, would you kiss me and make it feel better, Granger?"

Mischief gleamed in his gaze.

She slid an amused, sardonic look at him. "You haven't changed, Malfoy."

"Not in the least, Granger."

"You still feel the same for me, then?"

His unbroken silence broke her heart a little. But with a casual head toss, she feigned the recovery of her bearings.

"Heroes are not without fear, Malfoy," she pressed, talking less about the fight he'd thankfully survived and more of the battle of wills being fought between them. "Sometimes being heroic means showing uncommon grace in the face of untenable circumstances." She added the last quite softly, her mouth tantalizingly close to his.

These were words he'd heard spoken before. Draco cocked his head at her. _Dumbledore_. Words very similar to the ones that had him seriously seeking a different future for himself.

"Are you _complimenting_ me, Granger?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Malfoy," she sputtered. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He smiled then, a genuine smile.

"I've missed you, Bookworm."

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand as he gazed at her. Surprised, he passed it over the third finger of her left hand again.

"Where is your ring?" he asked.

"What ring?" she answered confused. He stared at her, coaxing her to remember her red-headed fiance.

_Oh, that._

"I'm not engaged," she said with a shrug. "In fact, I'm not even dating."

"Why?" he asked incredulously.

"I _can't,_" she replied self-consciously. "I just... _can't_..."

How could that be? Malfoy thought. He'd expected they would be married by now. She seemed sad and it infuriated him that he couldn't be the man to make her smile. How dare the Weasel throw her away! He was supposed to make her happy and keep her safe. That's what he was good for! What a waste of space!

"But... but I saw you!" he nearly shouted in his exasperation. "You _kissed_ him."

_Which time?_

"The day of the first battle... after the Fiendfyre," his voice faded at the awful memory. "I went looking for you. I wanted to make sure that... and then I saw you and..."

_Oh._

Malfoy had mourned more than the loss of Crabbe that day. The look on her face now held such tenderness at the knowledge that he'd been searching for her. He desperately hoped the look did not stem from pity.

"When I saw you in that room, surrounded by that cursed flame, Draco," she began to recount. "I was terrified you were going to die. I saw your hand slip from Harry's at the first attempt to get you on that blasted broom. I hated the helpless feeling of not being able to save you."

He felt her pulse quicken at the horrifying memory and he soothed her by running a thumb across her palm.

"After we'd gotten out, you were heartbroken over your friend and I could do nothing to comfort you," she continued mournfully. "I had just discovered myself safe after that first wave of attack. That must have been when you saw Ron and me. The moment before you saw us, I was just so relieved, like I had been that _other_ time... Then, the light streaming in from the wrecked wall— it hit Ron just right and I thought for a moment... while I looked at him... well, he reminded me so much of...

...you."

She hung her head as her retelling had her unexpectedly revealing her feelings for him.

"I wanted it to be the same, you see, but wasn't. It didn't feel..." she floundered and sighed dejectedly. "You turned me away and I so desperately wanted..." her voice dipped into the despair she remembered. The sound wrenched his heart.

Miraculously, she felt his fingers finally clasp hers. With his other, he slipped a finger beneath her chin and brought her gaze to meet his.

Her brown inquisitive eyes examined his face. He wanted to shrink from her scrutiny. Her gaze was unwavering. The unspoken dare there was what kept his eyes firmly affixed to hers.

"I still know who you are, Draco," she whispered, not wishing to break the trance. "Do you now know who_ I_ am?"

Hermione watched the parade of emotions march over Draco's face. Relief mixed with a timid joy seemed to be what settled in the silvery depths. With that tentative shining light, Hermione dared to light a little candle of hope in her heart, hidden away from his prying eyes.

_A heartbeat._

"Hermione," he breathed.

Her eyes widened in shock.

He chuckled, and impetuously drew her lips to his.

* * *

**_Author's note:_**_ I was listening to "In the Creases," by Alex Wong from the Paper Raincoat. The song helped me coax the plot bunny back. I also borrowed a few lines for inspiration to grease the wheel with this one._


	6. To Beguile a Bookworm

"How many days has it been, Draco?"

"What are you on about, Potter? Why are you not with the She-Weasel making a kit... or a kaboodle?"

Draco scoffs mirthlessly at his one-sided jest, casting a disdainful eye at the dark-haired, bespectacled man sliding onto the empty stool next to him.

"Clever, Malfoy."

"Bugger off, Potter! " Draco growls. "There's nothing to save here!"

"No," he replies stubbornly, motioning for the bartender to send some mead his way. Draco frowns unhappily at the unwanted intrusion.

_Would he ever just die? _

Draco stares miserably into his swiftly emptying tankard of mead.

"Hermione loves you, Malfoy."

"She told you this?"

The traitorous query slides unchecked from Draco's lips. Thoroughly displeased with himself for this slip and with the answer of Potter's small wry smile, Draco clamps his mouth into a tight hyphen. He is unable, however, to keep himself from stealing a glance at the man beside him as he awaits his words.

Before replying, Potty's unwavering green eyes pin him to his seat. Draco shifts under the uncomfortable weight of the undisguised scrutiny.

"No."

The one softly spoken word rings out like a_ Crucio_ to Draco's ears. To hide the initial shock of hearing it, he lets out a loud huff as an odd ringing starts to peal in his head. In an effort to fend off oncoming pain, Draco avoids looking at Harry, closes his fingers around his tankard and pours the rest of its golden brew down his throat, taking in the last of it with long inelegant gulps.

"Leave it, Potter," he snaps.

"She's unhappy, Malfoy... and suffice it to say, so are _you_."

Draco's stony silence prompts Harry to continue speaking.

"You kissed her in the hospital," Harry says in a conspiratorial tone.

Draco's head whips up, his piercing metallic gaze bores into Harry, an unspoken question hangs between them.

Harry shakes his head.

"She didn't need to tell me, Draco. I was the first to come back into the room. I saw you two and I kept the others from seeing. When we came back in... well, that was the first time I'd seen Hermione genuinely happy... in years. _Years_, Malfoy."

Draco lowers his gaze again to examine the dregs in the mug.

"And you, Potter, in your infinite wisdom, believe I can bring sunshine and happiness back to her life?" the blond mutters bitterly, "Maybe even give our tragic selves a happily ever after?"

The world's sorriest excuse for a savior averts his eyes, at last silent. Draco snorts at the pathetic sight of him wrestling with a reply and tiredly shakes his head.

"As I thought, Potter," Draco says, his shoulders drooping wearily. "There is _nothing_ I can do."

"You can try, Ferret," Potter insists stubbornly, that ridiculous square jaw of his clenching in an effort to swallow his everlasting pride. "You can _try_ to make Hermione happy. None of us have been able to."

_Ludicrous_.

"Cease your bloody meddling," Draco spits back, slapping down a galleon on the oak bar. With a slight toss of his head to bid farewell to the barkeep, Malfoy strides out of the pub, abruptly leaving Potter at the bar.

* * *

The foot walks of Daigon Alley teem with holiday shoppers and Draco is not nearly as drunk as he'd have liked to be thanks to the unexpected meeting with Potter. For two weeks, he'd remained out of the public's eye since being released from St. Mungo's.

He'd managed to keep Granger at arm's length after their single kiss. In fact, as his discharge date neared, the more distant Draco became, pushing Hermione away with his cold stoicism until at last she left his side with nary a tear.

It wasn't that his feelings for her had changed. In fact, to his great chagrin, they'd grown far stronger.

Strong emotions visited Draco so seldom, he was hardly hospitable to the onslaught. It was difficult for him to give a name to what he was feeling. It felt something like anger, perhaps even anguish, or worse, maybe something else entirely.

The confusion alone was enough to truly incited fear in him. And unlike those blasted Gryffindors, Draco's immediate response was not to charge in and conquer it, but rather to flee, as fast and as far away as a body could. After all, he'd never been one to fight when there were far easier ways to escape the inconvenience of confrontation.

He'd never been one to battle danger head on, that is, until Granger—

and having witnessed the alley events that led to his hospitalization.

_Bloody, Pansy._

The unwanted, memory of Montegue pawing Granger causes a surge of vicious anger to whip through him once again and Draco pauses beneath the cauldron shoppe's awning to calm himself.

Due to Pansy's utter insanity and Potter's little visit, Draco finds himself forced to face what he'd been avoiding for five years. And it is not pleasant.

Since the end of the war, Draco experienced bouts of erratic, violence-prone behavior. This had been what kept him from seeking Granger in the first place. No one knew of Draco's, yet undiagnosed, condition, except for Zabini. And even _that_ revelation had been an unfortunate accident.

It was this sobering reality, of being too broken to claim the fiery witch who'd tormented him with her intelligence and hidden sexuality at Hogwarts, that had smothered the tiny bit of hope that flared in his chest when he awoke to find Granger at his bedside.

_Well, he'd managed a life without her before, _he thinks stubbornly,_ and Merlin, he would do it again!_

Draco knows he'd been mad to think he could steal that one heavenly kiss without repercussion. It had never been easy to walk away from Granger. That was why he'd mastered the art of making her do the walking. Watching her leave was torture enough.

Unfortunately, the cold comfort he'd relied on in the past to keep memories of her at bay was no longer useful. He'd used the reason of Granger finding her white knight in the Weasel as the perfect excuse to keep his distance.

But she failed to follow the plan he'd fashioned for her in his head. Just like Granger to go against his wishes.

_Blasted witch!_

"Oi! Draco"

_Zabini_.

Draco increases his stride away from the voice behind him, pretending not to hear. Of course, a quickly applied Disillusionment Charm would have done the trick, but Draco does have some boundaries when it comes to showing cowardliness. As he increases his ground-eating pace, Malfoy wonders grouchily why the fates have decided to plague him with meddling men this evening.

A strong hand clamps on his shoulder before Draco can reconsider the practicality of a well-cast Disillusionment Charm.

"Mate, it's good to see you up and around." Zabini's glowing smile irks Draco to no end. "Where's Granger?"

"How should I know?" Draco snaps, pulling away from Zabini's touch.

"Oh, I don't know. Let's see, she was with you through the whole of your hospital stay," Zabini replies good-naturedly. "You saved her from a fate, possibly worse than death. You maimed people you've known all your life to protect her _honor_. Why wouldn't I ask after her?"

The litany of his so-called good deeds spilling from Zabini's mouth causes Draco's insides to recoil.

"She's gone," he manages without obvious emotion.

"What? Why?" Blaise asks confused.

"I didn't give her a reason to stay."

"Malfoy," Zabini's tone is scolding, "why do you insist on punishing yourse—"

Draco sends Blaise an incidiary look that stops the other man from completing his sentence. Fortunately, Zabini is familiar enough a friend to ignore the blatant hostility rolling off of the blond without instant retaliation. He places his hand back on Malfoy's shoulder, tightening his grip as he reconsiders his approach.

Blaise already knows any talk of his former house mate's shrewd leadership skills and strategic work during the war will do nothing to further his cause.

_But perhaps,_ Blaise thinks devilishly,_ perhaps appealing to Draco's baser instincts might better serve._

With a devious twinkle in his eye, Zabini tries one last tactic to goad Draco into doing what he believed should have been pursued years ago.

"Well, if _you_ don't want her," Zabini begins with a sly wink at his bad-tempered mate. "Then you won't object to me..."

Before he can utter another word, Blaise finds himself hauled into a nearby alley and slammed against the cold hard stone wall of Obscurus Books' publishing house. His throat is pressed by a surprisingly muscled forearm, the tip of a Hawthorne wand a mere millimeter away from his nose.

"Don't finish that sentence," Draco seethes through clenched teeth, his arm pushing more threateningly against Blaise's larynx. Malfoy's winterfrost eyes flash with metallic menace.

Zabini's eyes bulge from the constriction to his airway, yet he is surprisingly calm considering the nature of the attack. True to Slytherin form, Zabini is cunning enough to weigh the danger he faces before striking back.

The wild, incensed expression on his friend's face is one he'd seen four times before. Once in battle, when Draco was unaware of Blaise watching in the shadows. He'd witnessed how Draco had sent out one of the most powerful protection spells over an unsuspecting Granger, causing no less than three dark curses to bounce back onto the Death Eaters who'd cast them— Theo's father among them. None but Granger survived the attack. Malfoy kept to the edges of the forest, with no one but Blaise as the wiser.

After the war, Zabini had the distinct pleasure of being the sole target of Malfoy's additional attacks, which most often occurred during the first year after the war. Draco swore they were _nothing _and had never happened with anyone else. Each time the trigger had been something about Granger. It probably hadn't helped that Zabini was at Hogwarts playing Head Boy to her Head Girl at the time, telling Draco of her budding romance with Weasley in an effort to get Malfoy to do _something... anything _to get out of his melancholy and claim the girl he'd heard his friend dreaming about through their sixth year at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, neither man had heard about the final fizzle in Granger's relationship with the red-headed Auror.

In the alley, Blaise fights against blacking out. He is unable to finish his sentence even if he wanted to, so instead he makes a final effort to grasp Malfoy's forearm and shove him off. Triumphant in doing just that, Zabini rubs at his neck and slits his eyes, witnessing the return of Draco's sanity.

Malfoy's eyes grow wide. He staggers back, choking on a horrified apology. His blond friend looks so distraught that a few on the street send Malfoy looks of terrified alarm. Draco's bewildered expression alone has Zabini instantly forgiving him. Blaise shoots out a hand to grab onto Draco's wrist before he falls back and is trampled by the busy crowds on the sidewalk.

This time, it is Draco against the wall beneath Blaise's strong arm.

"Don't tell me Granger means _nothing_," Zabini's velvety voice is underlain with iron, his hand presses against Draco, who is staring back with owlish grey eyes. "Don't tell me _that_ _response_ was nothing, Malfoy. You've been operating like an automaton with a bubble around your head for the last four years!

"That bloody cavalier mask you've been wearing must have been strapped on so tight it's killed some of your brain cells," Zabini adds with a rough shake of his friend. "If this renewed surliness is any indication, you're finally starting to come out from under the anesthesia of your denial. These rages have _everything_ to do with her."

Draco shakes his head miserably.

_No._

"Your propensity to attack whenever her name comes up next to another man's means _something_ whether you want it to or not," Zabini insists, hoping to Circe that he wasn't hitting another trigger for one of Malfoy's violent fits. "They're _not_ just the after-effects of war. You keep saying it will get better, that you'll get better, Draco, but you're becoming a shell of the man you once were.

"You're paving your own path to self-destruction, Draco. Look, mate," Zabini continues, a new idea taking form his devious mind. "Granger stopped her own madness. She never married Weasley— _smart girl._ And by doing that, she's given you an opening to stop your own crazy, too."

"You cannot be suggesting I marry _her_," Draco replies incredulously, pulling out of Zabini's grasp to run an unsteady hand through his icy blond hair.

"_Marry_? Merlin, no!" Zabini exclaims with sufficient drama to disguise his real thoughts on the matter, knowing his friend wouldn't be able to handle the truth. "Face it, Draco, Granger's been in your system since Hogwarts. You couldn't have her then, considering your ... ah.. tendency toward cruelty to her. But now, after all that's happened, you have an opportunity to rid yourself of the lurid fantasy of her. Which, by the way, seems to have reached mythical proportions. It's time for you to prove to yourself that she's just another ordinary witch."

"You mean, use Granger for sex?" Malfoy clarifies in a voice that sends chills up Zabini's spine. Blaise dislikes the overprotective, predatory flash in his friend's silver gaze and he strengthens his position against the leaner man.

"Just _use_ her to get her out of my system?" Draco adds in a tone that is somewhere between intrigued and sinister.

"If that's your poison, Malfoy," Zabini replies with a shrug, feigning casual. "I'd suggest it, in fact, because those slags you've been trotting around town are trollops— the lot of them. It's disgraceful for a wizard of your caliber. All you need to do is convince Granger, who's considered a war hero of sorts these days, that you're still worthy of getting into her knickers. I strongly suspect that once you've had the witch, you'll also be rid of this outrageous aggression. And then..."

Draco raises an inquiring eyebrow.

_... you'll start to realize how you'll want to give her every reason to stay._

Zabini keeps the last to himself and smiles wolfishly instead.

"... who knows, right? Granger could be both the cause _and_ your cure, Malfoy. Besides, have you seen _her_? I say that the task of taking her won't be quite so distasteful now. She's really grown up, if you know what I mean."

Blaise notices the sudden tightening of Malfoy's entire demeanor at his careless male appraisal of the female member of the Golden Trio. Quickly backtracking, Zabini adds, "The fact is, mate, you need to bed her to get rid of this hold she seems to have on you. Then you can feel better, more your old self— the Draco Malfoy we all love to hate."

Blaise releases his hold as he sees the blond's nod.

"I saw her in Flourish and Blotts not twenty minutes ago," Zabini says over his shoulder as he departs. "She was pouring over a book on mystical creatures. Damn thing sprouted wings while I was speaking to her, I swear it. She told me she had to put a spell on it just to get it to stay in her lap. It was a tome. She might still be there, holding it down."

And with that, Zabini turns the corner, hiding his grin, happy to have planted a seed.

His black cloak flaps a jaunty goodbye in the winter wind.

* * *

Between Potter's meddling and Zabini's blasted talk, it was a lot for a wizard just out of the hospital to take in. Malfoy frowns, winding his his muffler tighter around his face.

_Mask, indeed._

But Zabini did have a point. All his life, Draco never experienced _want_. He could always have— _anything_ he wanted.

So, what if all of this unseemly emotion is centered on feelings for a witch he'd built up into a fantasy? After all, Granger had been the only girl who'd gotten away and Merlin knows that alone was enough to keep him up at night. So, what if this insanity is based on nothing more than a schoolboy fantasy that is taking over his godforsaken life? What if he'd been pining for half a decade for little more than a ghost?

Draco strides out of the alley and back onto the bustling sidewalk. He sidesteps a towheaded toddler who'd slipped from his mother's grasp. At seeing the woman's upset, Draco turns to gently pick the child up and carefully place him back in his mother's waiting arms. Malfoy nods politely, giving her a tight smile at her profuse thanks as he moves on toward the book shoppe.

He turns the corner wondering what the harm might be in trying to find out if his violent fits and the increasing bouts of depression are the symptoms of a compounding fantasy about Granger that began back when he was sixteen.

It certainly couldn't hurt to try out Zabini's theory.

_Could it? _

The question haunts Draco as he weaves through the crowded streets.

Before long, Draco finds himself standing at the picture window of Flourish & Blotts. He gazes in at the cozy scene. The shoppe's new reading room is ablaze with a cheery fire dancing in the Floo. Levitating platters of cookies and hot cocoa make their rounds as customers sit reading and conversing in the fat armchairs scattered among the stacks of books.

Draco discovers her quickly, her brown head is buried in a book that covers nearly all but her ridiculous hair from his view.

He smiles at the memory this image of her evokes.

_Bookworm_.

He turns to the door and enters. The tinkling of merry bells greet him, as does the shopkeeper. Draco raises a hand in greeting and makes his way past the stuffed bookshelves to the reading room.

With quickly fading confidence he makes his way to her chair. She is so focused on the book she gives no sign of noticing his presence. So he sits in a chair across from her and stares.

Zabini was certainly right, the girl Granger had been was all grown up now. Absent are the lively features of an excitable, know-it-all school girl. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, this is not new, but the somberness of her entire being is.

It calls to him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asks without looking up. Her words lack the warmth she'd freely given him when he'd been recuperating. He now realizes the sound of her pleasure at seeing him was something he'd come to treasure. "Come to finish off the rest of my pride, you insufferable man-child?" she grinds out, her eyes still focused on her book. "You reek of mead, Ferret. Had some liquid courage, did you?"

"You wound me Granger," his sardonic tone surprises him. Likely a force of habit, he excuses himself. This witch incites it.

"I have no doubt that you have many witches more than willing to fortify your incorrigible vanity, Malfoy," she shoots back acidly. "You certainly don't need one more."

"I always need one more, that's my problem," he mutters, not meaning for her to hear.

Unfortunately, Hermione does and she feels a surge of astonished fury at his comment. It brings a violent tide of scarlet to her face. Draco appears curious at her response. His face softens while she bristles.

"Well, if you think that the _one more_ is going to be me, you've clearly gone mad!"

She shuts the book with surprising force and it does indeed spout wings and fly off. They both watch it go, as do a number of other shoppers who try to appear busy while eavesdropping on the snarling couple.

Frankly, Hermione is amazed she still has the energy to spar with Malfoy, who in the last five years had become more than a little intimidating, with his silver eyes and a mouth made for both kisses and lies. He still appears the fallen angel from the alley, but in his consciousness is replete with a dangerous male beauty that only Hades himself could fashion.

Without her fortification of the leather-bound parchment she appears quite small to him. She is glaring at him, daring him to continue. To her astounded eyes, he does the unthinkable and flashes her a rare smile.

"Perhaps, I have gone mad, Granger."

His face swiftly rearranges itself and the brief show of humor is lost. It happens so quickly that she wonders if she saw it at all.

He's hardened, she realizes, but it is to be expected, she supposes. There is nothing kind, sensitive, or remotely boyish left about Draco, she thinks morosely. When he'd been bed-ridden, she'd been tempted to think otherwise. But the painful days before his hospital release when he refused to allow her near and these last two weeks of his absence from her life finally had her accepting that their one stolen kiss had been only a fleeting thing. But it wasn't until after his cold withdrawal from her, before his release from St. Mungo's, that she'd at last faced facts and tried to more forcefully shut the door on him and their secret, sordid past for good.

_So, why did he have to keep coming back?_

Much as she tries, though, she can't draw her eyes away from the sight of him. In the coziness of the reading room, he acts as a beacon to her, radiating health and barely banked virility, something that had been absent when she'd been focused on caring for him in the hospital. All in all, he had been a compliant patient, but then again he had been in a coma. It wasn't until after he woke up that he was absolutely wretched.

The years have been far too generous with him. He's grown into himself, she thinks resentfully. Why couldn't he have a receding hairline and be altogether as unattractive as his personality?

Still long, lean, and sinewy, his body makes a perfect frame for his tailored, elegantly simple robes which provide little distraction from his attractiveness. Not handsome, exactly, but striking to be sure. His pale eyes glitter like rare diamonds from the necklace she'd once seen gracing his mother's neck at a post-war benefit ball for orphans.

His beautiful eyes reflect no emotion when he smiles, she notes sadly. But the smile itself is enough to steal the breath from a witch's body... the sensuous cynical mouth, the flash of perfect white teeth. Draco Malfoy had grown up to be quite an impressive wizard, and unfortunately, he knew it.

She senses he'd also become a more masterful predator, one who undoubtedly enjoys toying with his prey before killing it. She can nearly touch the intense sensuality of him. It makes her sick with regret and angry at herself for still wanting him.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy," she hisses, drawing herself up. She turns to gather her purse, but not before spying a quicksilver flash in his unrelenting, hungry gaze.

_Danger._

"No," the steel in his voice unnerves her. "I am through with doing that."

She turns to stare squarely at him, ready to say something disparaging, but the words do not come. She refuses to allow him to see how much he affects her. Her heart still hurts, knowing she can never have the boy she'd fallen in love with under the quidditch stands.

_Why must he continue with the torture of this?_

"Well, then I'm leaving, Malfoy." She grabs up her scarf and cloak, throwing them on haphazardly.

"Yes, why don't you, Granger, since you do _that_ so well," comes his insolent drawl.

She refuses to acknowledge his taunt. There is too much she might reveal in a careless retort. Her silence speaks far more than any words might and this has him suddenly desperate for a reaction. He reaches out to catch her elbow as she whisks herself past him. In a last attempt to stop her, he draws his face close to hers.

"Why don't you try _staying_ this time, Granger?" he breathes this against the sensitive whorls of her ear.

With what he thinks might be defiance, she turns her gaze up to met his. Her eyes don't quite hold the amount of fury he expects to see.

_Hurt. _

_Disappointment._

"No, Draco, why don't _you_ stop giving me so many grand _reasons_ to leave?" She finds herself gently whispering this. She feels his hold goes slack, allowing her an escape.

She knows she deflated him by refusing to rise to the bait. She also knows what he offers isn't real. After all, not once had he acknowledged her.

It pains still, she realizes with a start.

He _still_ doesn't see her.

She throws him a wistful glance before making for the shoppe's exit.

* * *

He'd sure made a mess of things.

_Why did she have to attack him at the start? _

He was a buggering idiot for ever having listened to Blaise. Maybe he'd just throw one of his enraged fits and finish the bastard off. The git deserved to be ripped limb from limb for planting such ridiculous thoughts in his head.

Draco shook his head thinking about the wreck of his meeting with Granger.

He had been going to say something nice to her, he was sure of it. Something like, "I've been a prize-winning prat about all of this. I'd like to start seeing you, Hermione. _Officially_. Shall we have a go at it, then, you and I?" or "Say, Granger, what do you say about finishing what we started sixth year?"

_Bloody brilliant plan, Malfoy, that would have surely charmed the knickers off of her._

He exhales heavily, tired of his ongoing internal fight. He at last gathers enough strength to turn toward the door and leave the warmth of the book shoppe.

Draco steps outside, cursing inwardly as he braces himself against the sharp bite of the winter breeze coursing down the street. It was dark, he worries briefly about the witch, but figures she must have disapparated home by now.

He has one more place to stop, the reason he found himself in Daigon Alley today in the first place. He isn't even sure if they are still open. All he knows is that he promised Teddy a Hangman from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Draco hates the idea of frequenting the Weasley's joke shoppe, but the closest thing he had to a nephew had asked with a sweet please, and that left Draco no alternative but to walk into Weasley's since George's shoppe was the only one that sold the blasted thing.

Turning the corner, he spies her and he halts mid-step.

Granger's back is to him since she is staring intently at the shoppe, or, rather, above it as though gazing at the moon. She appears to be waiting for someone or something from the looks of her impatient toe-tapping.

From behind his muffler, Draco sucks in a fortifying breath and heads toward her, intent on approaching her properly this time.

He had just touched her shoulder and she was just turning when something suddenly flew past him, leaving a horribly familiar zinging noise in its wake. He heard the violent explosion first, but it was the distinct green color that flashed above him that had Draco diving at Hermione, knocking her to the snow covered ground.

The crackling explosions don't stop and he tucks her further beneath him. He tries valiantly to cover every part of her with his body as he spies green, scarlet, and purple lights flash above him.

The present fades as the colors and sounds yank him back to a darker time.

"You're safe, Hermione," he croons, his body curling hers into his. "No one will hurt you, I swear it. They've got to kill me first. Please, stay with me. You're safe. Tell me you're not hurt."

* * *

She had expected the sound. What had been worse, were the colors, so uncanny in their resemblance to those dark curses that flew out of Death Eaters' wands not so long ago. George had warned her before he'd set them off to test the new wizarding fireworks that he was developing with Lee Jordan to commemorate the twins' April 1st birthday.

George knew it was sick and twisted, so did she. Hell, so did _EVERYONE_, but they all knew that Fred would have loved the irony of seeing something so terrible turned into something so beautiful and benign. And George was finally doing something at the joke shoppe again.

Harry and the rest were inside. She'd insisted on being alone outside to watch the second show, not wanting to cause the others another round of distress at watching something that they'd all already reluctantly seen and had no desire to watch again. They each silently wondered about her sanity for agreeing to offer her solitary critique of the fireworks for George, but with Harry's nod, she knew he'd watch for her privacy, even calling George back into the store once the fuses were lit.

Even she didn't quite know why she'd requested the private viewing.

Of course, she knew she'd be subjected to unwanted memories. But being knocked to the ground, feeling watched over, safe and cushioned from harm was a secret memory she held onto of only one single time in battle. And it had been a strange curiosity. Three dead Death Eaters and no apparent reason why their curses hadn't blasted her off the face of the earth.

"They won't get you, Hermione. I worked too hard to keep you safe. No one is going to hurt you. No one," he growls next to her unbelieving ear.

From the moment he tackled her and she felt the weight of him on her, Hermione's senses are swiftly imprinted with the smell and feel of him... the new, more mature subtle spiciness of his expensive cologne hark back to the more obvious scent he wore as a teen. The feel of the experience-nicked skin of his face grazes against the softness of hers. His taut body is covered with layers of fine linen, the collar still holds onto the faint smell of his earlier visit to the pub. The softened wool-blend broadcloth of his wizard robes cover his back and is rough and warm under her palms.

He'd gotten taller and broader. She is quietly surprised at the realization of how large he actually is— she hadn't appreciated his size until she found him this up close and personal.

Carefully, she reaches out a hand to the back of his neck. Her fingers thread into the silkiness of his hair that lies there. Her hand moves to grip the back of his head when he pulls her closer. She places her cheek against his stubble roughened one in an effort to still his frantic movements.

"Draco, it's OK," she whispers. "They're whiz-bangs. Fireworks. They're not real."

Despite her assurances, the wizard sprawled atop her still shakes alarmingly, as though being rocked from his very depths. His hold on her tightens with each explosion, as though he hadn't heard her quiet explanation.

"Draco?" she says worriedly.

He refuses to raise his head in his efforts to protect her. The warmth of his ragged breath heats the crook of her neck. Her body under his is cushioned from behind by a charm he'd reflexively thrown before pushing her to the ground.

She can feel the muscled length of him wrap around her, sheltering her much smaller self. It's an altogether too pleasurable sensation that she tries to keep in check by stopping all her movements. When he does not pull away, her hand gentles, cradling the back of his head instead of gripping. For the moment, she decides to let him believe he is keeping her safe from harm.

"Draco," she repeats quietly, afraid to breathe. Her arms move to hug him. His arms still lie protectively around her head, the muscles there are trembling. His breathing is still erratic as the last of the fireworks fade away.

He is far too silent and so obviously far away.

"Draco, it's OK. I am fine. You kept me safe, don't you see?" she whispers, allowing one of her hands to run through his hair, the other runs up and down his back in the comforting motion a mothers uses to soothe a distraught child. "Draco. We're safe. Stop fretting. It's OK."

He's still laying on top of her when she sees the front door of the shoppe open. Harry blocks the light from inside from spilling onto the snowy walk. He starts forward, but stops when she shakes her head, pleading with her eyes to stop him, while she continues to hold Draco.

Harry takes in the little scene, smiles a little, then ducks his head as he turns back to the building. Before he closes the door behind him, he casts a warming charm over the couple in the snow.

She sends him a silent thanks, closes her eyes, and shifts her focus to listen to Draco's heartbeat alongside hers.

After a few minutes of this and not knowing what else to do but whisper sweet assurances to him, Hermione wonders if she should disapparate them both back to her loft.

At last, the lack of explosions registers.

"Hermione?" his voice reveals confusion.

He clears his throat awkwardly and gingerly tries to move out of her arms. He pushes himself up on his elbows, the rest of him still presses against her. She takes another moment to breathe in the rich masculine scent of him, knowing they can't stay this way much longer. She relishes the heavy feel of him on her.

She looks up at him, the lines etched on his forehead and between his brows show his extreme distress. He seems so lost, she thinks. So much so that she gives into the urge to hug him again.

His astonished gaze at last meets hers.

"Hi, Draco," she says, a soft smile in her eyes.

He more hurriedly starts to pull himself off of her, clearly rattled by the position he discovers himself in. But she tightens her hold and doesn't let him go.

"I'm so sorry, Gra—" he splutters.

"Draco, stop talking," she orders, placing her hand on his mouth to quiet him, unwilling to allow him to re-erect that barrier between them. "Just shut up and look at me."

He does as she commands. Her hand slides over to trace the sharp angle of his jaw.

He feels her soft touch as his eyes travel down. The moonlight teases her hair, the tousled tresses remind him of her short halo when they were sixteen and Pansy had dared to touch her.

Hermione's heart shaped face is upturned toward his. She wears a siren's smile, more mature in its sensuality than any other time before. The vision of her beneath him blocks out the previous horrified embarrassment of finding himself inexplicably atop her.

His first response to finding himself on her was worry. Worry that he'd blindly attacked her, like he did Zabini earlier. But when he runs a hand down her body to make sure he hadn't hurt her, she all but purrs.

To his complete astonishment, the animosity of the previous hour in the bookstore is gone and is replaced by the all-too-famililar, smouldering desire that had always surrounded them that last year they were together at Hogwarts.

It is as though time travels backwards, the unique scent of her fills his entire being and for a moment he feels the way he did back under the stands when he decided to kiss her, so utterly and completely...

_happy_.

The unfamiliar swelling in his chest at the sight of her lowers his defenses against her feminine charms and he allows her to tug him toward her, drawing him ever closer.

"We shouldn't," he starts to say, when her gaze drops to his mouth. He glances around, at last concerned by the lack of privacy and the strangeness of their layered, prone position on a random snowbank in Daigon Alley.

"You started it by failing to resist your male instincts that had you throwing your body on top of mine," she teases, pulling her mouth up closer to his. "It's dark, Draco. There's no one out. Kiss me."

Her fingers clutch his robe, pulling him toward her more insistently. He eases himself lower, allowing her to lead. The friction of his movement has her moaning and the needy feminine sound has him responding immediately.

At long last, their mouths meet. First it is fumbling, revealing their desperation to find one another again. Then, it is as if at the very same moment they both remember how to mould their lips together to fully share their passion.

He parts his lips to subtly brush his tongue against hers in a slow sensuous glide. She moans softly, silently egging him on as she feels his hands stroke her, reacquainting himself with her feminine dips and curves.

_She has the most wonderful mouth— sassy, pliant, feminine, tender and soft,_ he thinks as he loses himself in this heated meeting. When he feels her instinctively parting her lips to give him deeper access, all his thoughts splinter.

_Yes, _he thinks exultantly as their lips cling, tongues twining in an intimate dance.

_This_ is what he wants... what he misses so desperately.

_And it is no fantasy. _

It is more.

_So much more. _

Like a... _homecoming_.

Draco breaks away with a shudder that reveals his fight for control.

"Granger," he warns. His lips hover a millimeters from hers. His forehead rests against hers. His breath harsh.

"Hermione, Malfoy," she whispers aggressively, eyes closed, body still arching up into his.

He tenses. His hand abruptly halts its caresses.

She replays her words in her head, recalling the banter before all their previous kisses, and realizes the cause of his sudden distress.

"What is with you?" she asks her eyes laughing as she places her mouth against the frantic pulse at his neck before pulling his head up so she can look at him while she speaks. "Who said anything about getting _married_, Malfoy?"

He takes in her light merriment. Then, with unspoken gratitude, he pulls her closer to him and she falls into his embrace.

Her surrender has him fully aware that she just might allow him to test Zabini's theory. As this thought forms, Hermione has a revelation that she will allow herself some craven selfishness by accepting what little of himself he can give, even if it might never include his heart.

Throwing her concerns about her well-being to the wind, Hermione knows she's allowing the soul-satisfying enjoyment of at last feeling this wizard holding her to be a hazard to her mental health.

"Hermione, it's Draco," he corrects with a nervous laugh, his tone turning more cautionary. "Now, don't start anything you can't finish, Bookworm."

He grinds himself suggestively against her. She responds with an affirmative arc of body and a delighted groan.

Watching her wanton expression, his eyes dilate, turning a dark slate as she squirms even closer, causing a visceral response from him.

"If you'll recall,_ Draco_, it was never me who couldn't finish," she retorts breathlessly. Her eyes flash with sexy humor as his hand delves beneath her vest and her mouth forms a soundless o.

He flashes her a devastating grin.

Their yearning gazes meet. And with a crack, they are gone.

At the sound, Harry peers out of the shoppe's window. He spots the abandoned white of the indented snowbank...

and smiles.


	7. To Disquiet Draco

**Chapter 7: To Disquiet Draco**

_**

* * *

Warning**: This chapter is the reason this story is rated M. Please take care not to read it if you are underage or especially adverse to M-rated writing. . . Now that's said, on with the show! _

* * *

Something is terribly wrong with her. She isn't thinking straight. Her brain is off-kilter. The rush of adrenaline surging through her veins all but washes away her conscience and common sense, leaving in its wake a strange kaleidoscope of sensation.

Their last kiss in the snowbank had dulled her brain. Each sensation now feels magnified, amplified, and exaggerated. Who knew that disapparating while wrapped around a hard, wanting wizard could be such an aphrodisiac?

Hermione knows she's landed on something soft and satiny, likely green, or silver, or both, she thinks wryly. Impatiently she tosses the thought aside because she doesn't really give a fig about where they'd landed or what they'd landed on. She only cares that she'd landed with _him_.

_Beneath him._

Merlin, he's gorgeous, she thinks staring up at him from under half-hooded eyes. As a young man, Draco Malfoy had made her heart race. Now he set it pounding. A fresh surge of heat and desire shoots through her body.

Smart, sexy, and stubborn as hell— three things Hermione suddenly realizes she wants and needs most in a partner.

And now, she has all three in her arms, wrapped up in this enigma, all covered in some bleak, brooding darkness that she is unable to penetrate. How unfair that the embodiment of the sort of man she wants for a lifetime lives somewhere inside this multi-layered man, one who seems deathly allergic to any sort of commitment that lasts longer than an hour.

If Hermione had been in her right mind she'd have realized that going any further with Draco Malfoy was a code red health hazard, a risk requiring careful thought and consideration.

But all she can think about right now is sex.

_Sex with him._

The desire between them is crazy, wild, frenzied... frantic.

"Hurry, hurry. I need you," she urges, not really knowing how much she'll be able to give this time… not exactly sure about _any of_ _this_ at all.

She silently prays that animal instinct will take over so she can hide her inexperience with an overabundance of enthusiasm. After all, there truly is nothing here but basic need, she argues with herself, carefully stockpiling more evidence to prove that this thing with Malfoy cannot be anything more than outrageous lust. A fiery all-encompassing lust that simply, most desperately, needs to be slaked before they die from the sheer exhaustion of keeping it in check.

She bites her lip at the sharp pleasure of his aggressive hand at her breast. Nothing about this is gentle, soft, or rose-colored… he is _nothing_ as she imagines a lover should be.

_This isn't about love,_ she sharply reminds herself again._ Stop searching for it, _she scolds. _This is Draco... the antithesis of love, really._

After their last kiss in the snowbank, his desperation to touch her does not seem the least bit odd. It, in fact, matches Hermione's own needs perfectly. And it is this synchronization of their dual desire that frightens them both.

But perhaps more horrifying for Hermione is that _this_ always seems to happen when she is with _him_.

_Only with him._

_Draco._

_Finally._

She hopes that this blazing inferno of need can be quenched with one hot mindless shag so she can take her life by the reins and go about getting herself together again. All that will be easier, she believes, when the fantasy of Malfoy being some sort of reformed dark wizard stops occupying her mind and finally proves itself to be just some silly schoolgirl fallacy built on smoke and mirrors.

Besides, this sexual Fiendfyre between them can only be fleeting - a flash that burns too brightly and incinerates everything in its path. There is absolutely no feasible way anyone can go on this way. They'd end up killing each other.

Certainly shagging Draco will at last alleviate this constant, unacceptable burning desire for him.

Yes, perhaps the only way to get him out of her head, she argues illogically with herself, is to have a hot passionate shag with the sexy prat and get him out of her life.

_For good._

Yes. This is right.

Her flat belly presses against the waistband of his trousers. She feels his rigid excitement. There isn't any way she can miss it, really. She figures that in return he must also feel her uncontrollable trembling.

Yes. Now is the time.

She pulls him closer, trapping his hand between them and the abomination of their over abundance of clothes. Despite the layers or material between them, Hermione is sure his heart can feel hers trying to beat its way out of her chest. She lifts her head to meet his eyes. He grabs her in a swift embrace, shifting them both to their sides on the mattress before falling on her again with a hand under her, a palm splaying against her lower back.

She snakes her arms around his neck. "Please, Draco, please."

_Sweet Hermione._

He dips his head.

Her gaze fixes on his lips, begging for a kiss.

Draco groans. He's wanted to do this from the moment she'd touched and taunted him in that Hogwarts corridor years ago. His hand steals up her spine to the nape of her neck, his fingers push up through her riot of tangled curls and w±aves.

"Please," she whimpers. "Please don't make me wait anymore."

And because he can't take one more moment of denying himself this woman, Draco tilts her head and plunders, spearing his tongue past her moist, receptive lips.

"Hermione," her name is a hoarse, needy moan. But she does not hear the last bit of it, that last consonant, because he is kissing her intensely again and all sound is lost in the onslaught.

He heats her up from the inside out. Searing her, branding her, claiming her, flash-melting the part of her that had frozen over each time he'd cruelly thrown her out of his life.

He kisses her hard, hot, and deep. Her grip tightens around him, pulling him close. Her eyelids drift close. Her entire being quivers. Explicit pictures flash through her head. His naked body, stretched out over hers. Him, big and hard for her. She, vulnerable and writhing in pleasure.

She wants him so badly it terrifies her.

Her fingers tangle in the silk of his hair and she holds him in place, loathe to let him go. Her heart pounds. She has no idea how this is possible. She hated him this morning, despised him by dinner and was well on her way to forgetting him in the bookshop, that is until his pompous arse showed up and made her forget all about strengthening the barricades.

It is as if Draco's lips are somehow laced with some sort of mind-altering love potion that she is helpless to resist.

He slides a hand against her bared skin again. She shivers with delight and anticipation. How long had she been lusting after him and secretly fantasizing about a moment like this? Chest to chest, thigh to thigh and every glorious body part in between. Hermione never wants it to end.

And they are just getting started.

This isn't her, certainly not the person she's been since the war. These last five years have been a study in shutting down emotions and desires, packing away passion for things more tidy and practical like building a steady career and nurturing a relationship that rarely demanded anything of her.

It was only in the bedroom where she found herself less than capable of pulling off her little charade.

But Ron never pushed, always accepted what little she could offer, even when it meant denying himself a true heart-rendering sort of love from a girl who blazed with desire for him, one who would want his promises of forever. One who deserved the goodness of him.

That girl, in the end, hadn't been her. And she'd strung him along despite knowing from the first moment of that misbegotten kiss that she couldn't ever love him in the deep and abiding way he loved her.

No wonder Ron had gotten angrier and more belligerent as the years progressed.

Had he felt for her the way she feels for the man holding her now? She'd never had this sort of raw, burning desire for Ron, or anyone else for that matter. Only for Draco. The knowledge of this absolutely infuriates her because he is the very last person she wants to build a life with.

But tonight, this wanton free-fall is too intoxicating and though this is not her, she loves it, revels in it. She doesn't know what to make of it. Doesn't really care that her head is spinning, that her heart is chugging, and her lips are burning.

Draco increases the pressure, his tongue hungry and insistent.

She moans again, a deep yearning sound that shocks, delights and escalates her arousal all at the same time. She is electrified. Every muscle in her body is outrageously alive, every millimeter of her skin cries out for more, more, more of his touch.

Then Draco pulls back. His robes have fallen open.

_Had she done that?_

He starts to lift off of her.

"No," Hermione whimpers, gripping the front of his shirt tightly.

He stares into her eyes. Their gazes lock and they both breathe in rapid rhythmic gasps.

Slowly he reaches out to run his fingertips over her cheekbone. His eyes are a dark slate in their desire for her. His body tense, as if barely controlled.

"What is it?" she whispers, bridging on a sob, her fingers clutching more tightly to the warm, crisp linen.

He swallows. She can feel the steel of his manhood straining against the fastenings of his trousers.

"Are you sure you really, truly want this, Hermione?" he gasps, the words leaving him in short breaths. "I won't be able to stop soon."

"I don't care about that," she hastily replies. "I've never wanted anything more."

"You _do_ care... or at least,you_ will_," His voice is ragged and it makes her want him all the more. "And you will want something more," he insists.

"I want _this_. Please stop talking," she pleads. "I want _you_. Nothing more. Just this. You. Now. Please."

Her words hang in the air of the softly-lit, unfamiliar room. They sound certain but vulnerable. She feels the truth of her plea right down to the very core of her. She _is_ vulnerable. Vulnerable and desperate and hungry for his attention. And she isn't one bit ashamed of her need.

_Pathetic_.

He in turn, looks like he is in pain. She _knows_ she is.

She should tell him no, that she's changed her mind. But her body is tingling and her blood is churning and she wants him so very, very badly. The moist aching between her legs is almost more than she can bear.

She watches him. There is a brief hesitation as he squeezes her hand.

_Last chance,_ the soft pressure seems to say. She squeezes back.

_Hurry_.

Some inner, wiser part of Draco inwardly sighs, resigned, as if this has been inevitable from the start and he should have known. Should have known that he could never deny her. That there is no longer any point in doing so, in even trying.

_What can he say to stop this force of nature, after all?_

She stares at him, her body begging for him not to stop... not to go. She senses the moment of his surrender, she smiles at the obvious relief in his gaze as he decides to respond to her by echoing her need.

He starts kicking off his shoes and wrestling off his robes which he tosses into some dark corner somewhere. Hermione hungrily watches him and the room spins like a beautiful carousel.

He places one still clothed knee on either side of her hips, looming over her and looking down. His strength and the lusty look in his eyes leaves her feeling utterly feminine.

She inhales his smell, now turned a little more musky, more aroused male, more Draco… the zestiness of soap, rich leather and expensive spicy cologne. He is pure predator now. His size makes her feel small, but not delicate. In fact, she feels it again… _power... glorious feminine power_.

She's reduced this man to hungry quaking want and need.

A thrill unlike anything she's ever felt gallops through her. She moistens her dry lips with a flick of her tongue. All these years and she'd never felt so desired.

He leans down. So unbearably slow.

Her heart thumps.

His mouth touches her neck. He kisses her on the forehead, sweetly, tenderly. Why is he kissing her forehead when she wants him to ravage her? She wants him to take her to heights she'd never reached. She wants it dark and hard and dirty.

_Forget the bloody forehead!_

"How's that feel?" he rasps.

_He's teasing. _

The bloody git.

"Not enough. More," she gasps angrily, clutching at the bunching muscles of his back. They tighten under his dress whites. Feeling his mouth against the bared skin at her collarbone, she can scarcely draw a breath, much less speak.

He chuckles and the sound fills her with indescribable pleasure. She'd never heard him laugh so genuinely before._ She had made him laugh._ Something wonderful bursts in her. She feels incredibly sexy— a truly foreign feeling.

Then his naughty hand slips under her wool skirt, up her inner thigh, reaching for her. She consciously keeps herself from pulling her knees together, telling herself to relax. He hooks a finger around the moistest part of her knickers and pulls, dragging the thin strip of silk and lace down her legs, past her knees and down her calves. He shoves them in his trouser pocket and smirks, daring her to protest. She rolls her eyes and grabs at him. He lets her catch one of his wrists. With her other flailing hand, she grabs hold of the bed sheet beneath her in an effort to anchor herself.

His hands are back on her thighs. He snaps one of the lacy garters there. A smoky, amused question twinkles in his eyes.

"I like them," she confesses sheepishly, starting to draw herself inward. His hand stops her from curling shyly up into herself.

"Sexy librarian," he murmurs bending to place a calming buss against her neck. "Lovely Hermione. What else do you have under all these layers?"

He pushes the hem of her skirt up to her waist and knees her legs apart. She gasps at the suddenness of it, at the coolness of air against her heated skin. He rocks back on his heels to drop his gaze. His fingers are back on her thighs, parting her more and she is surprised she feels no modesty or shame. His thumb gently traces circles against her most sensitive parts, driving her quite mad. An incredibly sexy noise slips from his lips. She feels her nipples tighten at the sound.

Her knees fall open as a new sensation grips her, giving him easier access to the most sacred, secret part of her.

Answering her silent urging, Draco's other hand slides up her thigh and over the flat plain of her abdomen, circling and inching closer to her centre. His fingertips edge into the silky, wet triangle, tangling in her nether curls, and gliding to the center and down into the sleek, heated folds.

The intrusion shocks her. Hermione jerks and tries to move away, an impulse she thinks from all those other times that this touch, though covered back then, signaled the end of their past interludes.

His grey eyes meet hers with curiosity. Her eyes flutter closed, desperate to hide from his questioning gaze. She feels his hand follow her retreating movement, tests her, waiting for her to pull away. When she doesn't, his knowing hand glides insistently over her, pressing into her in a way that makes her gasp and dig her heels into the mattress.

Then his clever fingers begin exploring her even more intimately, continuously stroking over a part of her so supremely sensitive that she is almost wild with hunger. She cannot keep her hips still. They circle and press wantonly against his wicked hand.

Soft impassioned whimpers escape her lips and she turns her head to muffle the sound against a pillow.

The past takes flight.

Only now exists.

_Only Draco._

Something foreign and powerful grows inside her and she fears she might be torn apart. She is going to burst into flame, just like Fawkes, Hermione is just sure of it. Her teeth clench against the erotic sensations assaulting her at every turn.

He feels her hand draw up his back to fist in his hair, making him stop long enough to listen.

"Draco, you have to stop... I can't handle it..." she gasps. "I can't... something is happening... You have to stop.."

She feels his fingers stall in the luscious exploration of her and suddenly she realizes that she doesn't want him to stop at all. Unconsciously her hips lift to nudge him back into movement. She stares at him, every inch of her straining for some mysterious goal. Her brows are furrowed in confusion and need. Her eyes plead.

A look of amazement and wonder crosses Draco's features at the sight of her. He smiles with some secret male satisfaction and then, thankfully, his hand begins to expertly assuage her ache again.

"Shhh... Yes, you can handle it," he whispers seductively, his gaze trained on her face. "Just feel, Hermione. Let it come."

She tosses her head from side to side and her eyes squeeze shut. Her breathing turns rapid as his fingers continue to thrust in exquisite torment. Her own fingers clutch at the bedclothes at her sides.

"It's OK, Hermione," he softly coaxes. "I have you. Trust me. Let go."

She loses the ability to speak, only feels his deft fingers unfurl and open her as she begins to bloom and blossom. A terrible yearning builds inside her, a hard aching knot of longing, until she feels she might have to scream against it. Then it bursts within her, and she does indeed cry out. Amazingly able to stop herself mid-shriek, just barely aware that she doesn't want to reveal her outrageous pleasure to him..

Fireworks.

_Merlin, Malfoy._

Draco adores the tiny scream, wants to hear more, so he sets himself to the enjoyable task of drawing another from her.

He moves his hand again and another tidal wave of pure pleasure washes through her causing her to shriek and tremble under the force of it. She is lost in the overwhelming physical sensation. So _this_ is what had always eluded her in the past? How much had she missed by allowing herself to settle for someone who offered her something less than _this_?

_My God._

Her heart thunders as she lies limp and languid, rendered utterly useless.

"Gorgeous, Granger," he murmurs. "So beautiful."

She smiles softly as she fights for the surface again. "You're just saying that to get in my knickers."

He laughs outright, a look of smoky masculine triumph graces his face. His hand still strokes her, playfully insolent. "I'm already in your knickers, luv."

She smiles appreciatively, gasping when he does something that sends an after shock whizzing through her. And after it ricochets and bursts, she wants to float away on the loveliness of this feeling.

Trying to resist the languid pull of sleep and satiation she turns her focus on him.

"I want to see something gorgeous, too," she says languorously, surprising herself with her own boldness at making demands.

She pulls herself up, it feels like she is dragging herself from a pool of water, wet and heavy, but she is determined.

Her skirt falls, covering her again. He groans at being denied the sight of her, but is swiftly distracted by the feel of her excited, fumbling fingers reaching for the buttons of his shirt. She works them open one by one. Revealing more and more of him. Hard muscled chest. Flat, taught abs.

With a greedy little grin she takes in the thrilling sight of his bare chest, old scars still there. She traces them lovingly, wondrously. Her fingers follow the golden trail of coarse hair that leads to treasures below and Draco hastily finishes the job of undressing for her.

She avoids looking at his forearm, to the remnants of the mark that he was forced to wear. It still sends shivers through her, knowing his sacrifices, ones she knows he will only deny having made if she asks about it.

He slides his tie off his neck, tugs himself out of his shirt, unbuckles his belt, and shucks off his trousers like a wizard on a serious mission.

"I know the charms, Hermione," he says softly, as he throws his trousers over his shoulder to join his robes. "I can do the spell. Which charm do you want?"

"What charm, Draco?" she asks distractedly. Her fingertips still skimming the contours of his torso.

"_Hermione_," he says with impatient exasperation, his hands on the waistband of his last remnant of clothing. She cannot tear her eyes away from his long fingers and the silk-covered bulge they lay beside.

She wants to reach in and touch.

Such mind-numbing satisfaction combined with the riveting vision of a nearly naked Draco in front of her and under her hand, has Hermione unable to concentrate on what he is talking about. She tries to grasp his meaning but keeps drawing a blank.

_Charms?_

At her dumbfounded stare, Draco prompts again.

"Hermione, didn't you and Weasley...?"

"What? No!" she exclaims.

"You _didn't _use a charm? Quite obviously, he lacks the fine talents to bring you to pleasure. But unless you haven't had sex in five years..." he stops and shakes his head, missing her startle at his stumbling on the truth.

She watches him clench his jaw against some unwanted thought. He looks to her again and hoarsely continues, "Are you using something Muggle? Please tell me you are."

"_What?"_

Then it suddenly occurs to her what he's talking about.

_Oh. _

"Hermione?"

"Cast a charm, Draco. Just pick one," she orders impatiently, concentrating on running her hand up and down his naked chest, raking her nails through the course line of blond below his navel, not daring to look up. He groans. She smiles.

"Stop thinking. I don't want to think," she adds, brushing a finger along the front of his boxers. "I like not thinking. Let's not think together, Draco. Let's just feel. Please. Cast the charm and get naked, Malfoy."

He stares at her, his mouth slightly agape. Her rapid-fire, nervous chatter seems out of place as does her use of his surname. But he isn't one to ignore her most pressing command. After all, parts of his anatomy were responding to her questing fingers, repeating the very same marching orders.

"You're certain you have no preference?" he repeats again.

"Just do it, Draco. _Then do me_."

He stills at her brusque demand.

_Hot. _

"Still bossy," he muses as he grabs his wand and casts a contraceptive spell over her and another on himself. "It's a good thing I want to do what you're asking. Don't get used to ordering me about, Bookworm."

She lays back and he waves his wand again, leaving her just as nude as he is. Almost as soon as she realizes this, he is above her, pressing his weight on her, kissing her more furiously than before. She stiffens with surprise at the heat of his hardness against her soft curves. She hadn't seen him completely, perhaps that's a good thing since she is already a tight ball of nerves. She wonders if other parts of him had grown up to fit his more manly frame, and if so she thinks it better that she feel it rather than see it since that might cause her endless worry about how they might possibly be able to fit together.

His hands glide all over her, stilling her frantic thoughts. His hands brush her skin. She feels some callouses, likely from sport, but otherwise his hands belong to those of a man of leisure, one who knows how to take pleasure from life. His excruciatingly soft exploratory touches ignite her every cell. His mouth swallows each of her needy gasps and cries.

He uses his talent for stealthy observation to learn the secrets of her body— what she likes, what she doesn't— gauging each of his touches by the sound of her cries and the responses she makes. Hermione realizes this as she deeply inhales the essence of him.

Slowly, mindfully, he moves his mouth from her swollen lips, down to her chin, to the sensitive underside of her jaw, to the hollow of her throat until he ends up at her aching swollen breasts.

"I've wanted you from the moment I saw you launch canaries at Weasley and every day in between," he confesses between kissing and blowing his heated breath against her tingling nipples.

"Really?" she gasps, arching up, wanting the feel of his mouth against her.

"You doubt this?" Draco takes hold of her hand and drags it down it to where he lies stiff and pulsing between them.

"See what you do to me?"

_Bigger than her memories. Definitely._

She shudders in anticipation and a little bit of fear.

He moves over her, parting her legs. Lust is the perfect antidote for fear and bashfulness, she decides. Despite feeling utterly boneless from her earlier satisfaction, there is still a low ache, a hunger that can't be satiated by anyone but him. Eagerly, she opens her legs to him.

But Draco does not do as she expects... not yet.

_Maddening, this_.

He props himself on his elbows, beginning a leisurely pleasuring of her breasts, kissing and teasing one, taking the nipple into his mouth and driving her mad with a slow hard suction. He pays the same reverence to the other, his hands never leaving her. Before long, to her amazement, the exquisite tension begins to rise in her again— if anything, she is more eager this time, knowing, albeit theoretically, what this will eventually lead to.

She moans his name, and her hands drift down his back to his bum, grasping, caressing him, pulling him to her. She knows what she wants and she wants it now, wants no argument or retreat—

"Please," she whimpers, "Stop making me beg. Please... Draco."

"Yes, I know," Draco distractedly bites the words out. "Just wait a moment."

She half sobs with need and frustration, but how can she wait when she is so hot and wet, so very ready and quite obviously, so is he.

_Truly there cannot be a point in prolonging this torture._

He positions himself against her entrance, raising her hips to nudge a fraction in, clamping his hand at her hip, stilling her, guiding himself in slowly, relishing every hot, wet millimeter as he becomes part of her.

He pushes further into her tight pulsing heat. So incredibly tight that he fears he might lose control in a way he hadn't since Hogwarts.

She gasps, at the foreign yet wondrous feel of him filling her. As he slides further inside, Hermione's breath catches on a sob. The little sound has Draco whipping his head up to look at her. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth. He sees she is attentively watching their joining. Eyes round and wide.

_Fear?_

He stops suddenly, understanding washing over him. But she'll have none of his wavering. She arches her hips up and his suspicions are confirmed. He feels the barrier.

_Bloody, bloody, buggering hell._

Now it is he who feels fear. He looks down at her, wanting to roar at her for not telling him, but her eyes are shiny, wet from unshed tears. He's afraid she's hurting because of him, so he starts to pull away.

"No!" she cries desperately, "Don't!"

She grips his hips harder and pushes herself up to meet him. This motion has them moving inexorably closer and she impales herself against him. He feels himself breaching the evidence of her innocence as a cry strangles in her throat. She pulls him down, enclosing most of him in slick scalding heat.

The sensation is so intense it has Draco gritting his teeth, his muscles lock against the urge to piston himself into her, to thrust into her willing and oh-so-very tight moist heat. The urge to lash out at her returns again as his entire body throbs with his thundering pulse, but all subsides when he hears her pained whimper.

He could have done better than this if he'd known, damn it.

He is about to tell her so, but when he looks at her again, he sees the fleeting tension of pain being wash away by a new sensual delight. Her pleased, though tentative, curious smile is one that strikes his very soul.

Still, she breathes too shallowly. He places a hand against her face, making her turn to face him.

"Relax, luv," he coaxes. "Gently, now," he adds, not sure if for her or as a reminder for him.

She nods, following his lead, carefully at first, then with increasing eagerness, increasing enthusiasm as the pain fades away and the pleasure builds. It is a pleasure she seems intent on claiming, Draco realizes, a pleasure she is equally intent on sharing.

Her eyes are on him. Breathlessly, imperiously, demanding, "Show me how to do this, Draco— how to please you."

"You are pleasing me— immensely," he replies, stunned by her generosity, at her enthusiastic desire to give him of herself.

It pleases her, he realizes, and it has always been this way with her.

He spies her unhappy pout, so he turns them both so she is sitting astride, better able to control the angle and length of him in her. Even though he's given her more command, he keeps hold of her hips, leading their rhythm, setting the pace, letting it escalate and build until their mutual need becomes the fuel that drives them.

On a desperate gasp, she bends forward to bind his lips with hers. They kiss deeply without restraint, tongues mimicking the same plunging, insistent movement with which she rides him. She feels him thrusting upward to meet her, gripping her hips and holding her down to penetrate her more deeply. This new intensely delightful friction pushes the tension inside her even higher.

Once more, she convulses, and this time, he is part of her. Draco lets out a hoarse cry, jerking against her, and they meet in a cataclysm of passion that leaves them both wilted, sated, and grasping onto one another.

* * *

He'd been taken advantage of.

He had been accused more than once of taking advantage of a witch— all false since they'd all been more than willing — but tonight, he, Draco Malfoy, had no doubt that he'd been seduced.

He'd been literally swept off his feet and into an act of intimacy he'd never before participated in, and for good reason. The emotions swelling in him were ones he did not want. He'd been forced to surrender and be ravished, by a former innocent, one Know-It-All, bushy-haired bookworm.

Gazing up at the ceiling, his hand curls around the back of her head. His fingers thread into the softness of her sex tousled hair to discover that despite the unwanted jumble of messy feelings, and perhaps because of this replete sensation of completeness, he cannot stop smiling.

_Merlin, Granger._

He should be angry. He had given her fair warning,_ hadn't he? _So, why hadn't she done the same?

It is only now, when she is a warm bundle of boneless satisfied female slumped on his chest, that Draco considers the consequences of their actions tonight and the reasons for their awe-inspiring coupling.

How could she not have been this intimate with Weasley?

For Merlin's sake! It's been five bloody years!

Even as he curses the Weasel and his ineptitude, a possessive, raw male satisfaction at being her first fills him. Then the knowledge agitates him.

Worse, any answers to his previous question about the redhead and the contents of the years spent in self-exile from the witch are ones he fears to contemplate. Violently, he pushes those thoughts away and turns to questions he'd never posed of himself.

He cannot begin to count all the sex partners he has had between her at Hogwarts and this night. Had it all been in an unconscious effort to forget? A futile attempt to find a replacement for her, a less than satisfactory way to ease his battered heart, and bring meaningless release to his body?

Draco is yanked from his thoughts when he feels something warm and wet land on his chest

Alarm rings through him.

"Are you crying?" he asks worriedly "What is it?

She shakes her head, tears falling faster.

"Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

Hermione can't stem the tears, though she fiercely wants to.

"I'm fine," she hiccups.

_More than fine, actually._

And therein lies the problem.

She despairs because this need for him hadn't dissipated in their supernova worthy explosion of ecstasy. She'd made it worse and this is only one reason why she cries.

She knows she can't tell him how much this means to her, or reveal how much she so desperately wants to tell him she loves him. She'd earlier forced herself to stop the words from forming as she cried out in her release.

He can not know. She can not tell him.

She'd seen the spark of fear when he'd realized she'd saved herself for him.

She knows what that might to do him... _to them... _if he ever discovered the truth.

So, instead, she winds her arms tightly around him, showing him with her body what she so desperately wants to say. She takes in a shaky breath and feeds him a bald-faced lie.

"I don't know why I'm crying," she whispers, biting back a sob. "I'm just being silly, Draco. Don't mind me."

"I'll always mind you, Hermione," he admits wearily into the top of her head, stroking her back, feeling her relax and ease against him at his comforting motion.

"Sleep now, Bookworm," he whispers, suddenly feeling the exhaustion that beckons him toward oblivion. "We'll work it out in the morning."

* * *

_What in Merlin's name had she done?_

The early morning sunlight that bathed her now had coaxed her awake and out of a luscious, sexy dream. She'd reluctantly opened her eyes to the surprising sight of one sleeping Draco Malfoy. One very _naked_, sleeping Draco Malfoy. Then she realized she hadn't been dreaming at all.

She itches to touch him again. Lord he is beautiful. One time with him is hardly enough. The gossip rags hadn't lied. But to have him twice?

Twice would be something else... too much.

_How could she have let this happen?_

_You asked for it, _she scolds herself. _You wanted it. If felt so bloody good, so you just went for it. Good sense be damned._

She shouldn't have done this. She should not have touched him and told him how much she needed him and begged him to shag her. Already her feelings for him are turning to mush. Tender, vulnerable feelings she should not be feeling. Not for him if she didn't want to be an emotional wreck for the rest of her godforsaken life.

_Fool!_

This act between them was supposed to have shattered her illusions of him.

But why didn't it all feel false?

Why did it feel so stunningly real?

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she tries to ease out from under the weight of his arm. When he moves or makes a sound that indicates he might wake, she stills and holds her breath, waiting for the deep rhythm of sleep to surround him again.

Each time she stops, she watches him sleeping so peacefully. She wants this— to wake up to the sight of him every morning after a night just like last. She wants it with a deep abiding ache.

She wants it_... too much_.

At last she makes it to the edge of the bed, sliding soundlessly off the wide mattress without disturbing him. She manages to find her clothes neatly piled beside his which lay haphazardly on the floor.

She keeps watch over him as she dresses, frustrated because she's unable to locate her knickers.

She'd just straightened from another hasty search when she hears movement from the bed.

She turns.

His eyes are open, his sleepy, sexily mussed look makes her ache deep and low. He catches sight of her before he fully awakens, offering her a shy boyish smile that melts her heart.

They stare at each other, the silence of the morning interrupted by one lone songbird.

Awareness of her fully clothed dawns in his expression.

And then she spies it, that same look he'd worn every time. The one etched in her memory of him under the stands years ago. The look he'd given her in the darkness of a library. The look that kept him from giving her a first kiss that she'd nearly begged for. The very same look that preceded his refusal to utter her name when she most desperately needed to hear it.

At the sight of his silver eyes flashing the tired old familiar message, one thing becomes startling clear.

If she is to preserve her heart, Hermione knows that what happened last night cannot happen again.

Not _ever_ again.

* * *

_**Author's note:** I did try to be classy in the word choice. And judging from the tension in the reviews, this was a long time coming... Pun intended. ;)_

_Also... I need some idea help with the next chapter. In your review can you describe what you think Hermione's perfect idea of a date would be? What would she want to do? What would she wear? What would she want to eat, drink, see, do? Etc. _

_If I use your ideas, I promise to give you credit!_

_Hugs, _

_Foggy.  
_


	8. To Harrass Hermione

He'd been hoping for another go before morning light, but his body had fallen into a deep sated slumber that he couldn't shake off despite the desire for her again. There had been precious little rest in Draco's life as of late and his body made his decision for him.

Sleep first.

Sex later.

He'd awoken to an empty bed and the sound of her rustling around in a corner of his room, softly cursing. He smiled, thoroughly relaxed for the first time in years, ready to welcome her back into his arms. When at last he'd cracked an eye open, he was greeted first with the frightful sight of her hair.

_He'd done that._  
He smiles.  
_  
_

As the last remnants of sleep cleared from his fuzzy brain, he came to the unhappy realization that despite the lovely monstrosity of her mane, she was nearly fully dressed and just as nearly composed.

_What was this?_

He frowned.

She looked... _abashed_.

Caught.

Had she been trying to sneak away? Disapparate before he woke?

Hermione peers at him as she wraps her scarf around her neck. Draco feels himself responding to the sight of her watching him. Apparently his body still wants her despite Blaise's flawed theory.

A _seriously_ flawed one.

_This was bad._

He'd slept through the essential part of their first morning after. He hadn't been awake to assure Hermione that she... _they_... had been amazing— _together_. He wanted to soothe her worry, to ease away the predictable anxiety and awkwardness about their newly discovered intimacy, particularly because it had been her first time.

In some ways it was as much his first time, too.

Draco had never brought a witch to his home before. Never had he taken a woman in the private seclusion of his bedroom. Yet, when he disapparated with Hermione in his arms, he could think of no place better to bring her than his own bed.

Perhaps even more astonishing to a tom-catting wizard like him, there had been no other witch who had _ever_ brought him such soul felt satisfaction. It was a heady combination of physical and mental completion— and she'd given him an emotional connectedness with her that he had never experienced before, the likes of which he never believed himself capable.

What was most astounding was that this night of firsts for him came about despite her innocence, perhaps maybe _because_ of it.

The whole of their time together— the before, the during and the after —had revealed such a unique and awe-inspiring coupling that Draco wanted her again... _immediately_... And this, the desire to simply be with a witch in the morning light never happened— _ever_.

He watches Hermione fumble with a small bundle of clothes in her arms. She regards him warily. He sends her a silly smile to get her to calm and return to him.

At the sight of his morning welcome, she seems ready to approach the bed again, but when she doesn't move right away, the smile slides from Draco's lips.

Had he mis-stepped by not being awake to talk when she needed? Was she now making him pay?

Perhaps not, since it appeared as though she was ready to bolt in a cloud of shame, a look of regret beginning to form on her face. He didn't want _this_ to be how she felt, not for _her_, not for _them_, because frankly, he'd just had the best sex of his miserable life. He presses his lips together, threads his fingers through his hair and tries valiantly to ignore the tenderness pushing against his heart.

_Lust._

_Just lust._

He struggles to convince himself of this.

It wasn't _her_.

Granger is nothing special.

The moment the thought pops into his head, Draco knows it is, of course, a lie, an excuse.

She_ is _special.

Blaise was wrong.

_A one time shag didn't help at all! _And now, Draco had even bigger problems... all because he deigned to listen to his idiot friend and failed to ignore the prompting of his childhood nemesis.

He was going to hex the bollocks off Zabini, the gormless git, and Scarhead the next time he saw either of them.

Silently, he watches Hermione smooth down her skirt, ironing out invisible wrinkles with the flat of her hand— a hand that holds steady throughout the movement— a detail he finds utterly irritating.

Especially since he, himself, feels slightly shaky in his renewed need for her. He follows the slide of her hands with his silver gaze and recalls how, just hours ago, his own palms had skimmed over that luscious body of hers.

How could so much have changed within such a short space of time? He couldn't honestly be held responsible for the change in her demeanor. He'd been asleep, for Merlin's sake!

Out of what must be habitual modesty, Hermione turns away to lift her skirt. Replacing her garters, he realizes longingly. He spies a lone stocking hanging from the tangle of rumpled garments held in the crook of her elbow. He watches her slip her bare feet into her shoes and that's when Draco realizes he is still naked atop the bedspread, watching her getting dressed.

What's worse, is that he is as hard as steel all over again.

Back in her sensible heels, Hermione turns and drops her gaze. He sees that she's noticed his... ah... _condition_. She looks at his face with amazement and that's when he grabs up a pillow to throw over himself.

Tension radiates between them. It is almost as powerful as the passion they had just explored.

Draco gulps and tracks his eyes from her sexy legs to the top of her brainy head. Her hair is a tumbled mess about her shoulders, a riot of sable curls and waves framing her face. He takes stock of her lips, which still appear slightly swollen.

He knows now that when he kisses them they turn a deep rosy pink.

She blushes at his open inspection, but her overall expression is inscrutable, her gaze steady. Her brown eyes reveal nothing of what she might be feeling. And it irks him to no end. He's never seen her this way.

When had she become a woman who could tuck her real emotions away so securely? When had she learned _this_ self-protective trick?

In truth, he didn't really want to know the answer, nor who the person or situation was that had taught her this. He was afraid he might have played a starring role.

"Well," she says at last, with a familiar, annoying up-tilt of her chin.

_Always a bad sign._

"Thanks, Draco."

"Thanks?" he tries not to splutter in outrage.

"Yes, you know," she lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Thank you for the shag. For the much needed... ah... sexual release."

They stare at each other uncomfortably. She shifts from one foot to the other, still clutching her wadded up jumper, and who knows what else, to her chest.

"You're welcome," he finally manages, feeling stupid and awkward.

"It was... nice," she adds with some finality.

Nice?_ Nice?_

His male ego takes a monumental hit, because for him, sex with her had been phenomenal.

She sighs and he catches something wistful in it.

It is this sound that has Draco realizing she just might be acting this way in an effort to protect herself, shoring up her defenses, if you will. Perhaps, he thinks hopefully, she doesn't want him to know just how much he's affected her.

After all, she can hardly trust the tumultuous emotions that has built between them any more than he can.

_And rightly so._

"I'll owl you," she offers magnanimously.

_What?_

No witch has ever made that sort of promise to _him!_ And he knows just how empty such a promise is because he himself doesn't so much as feed his owl after uttering such a meaningless consolation prize to a witch he'd just bedded.

"So this is it, Hermione? A one time shag?"

_Why in Merlin's name was he asking this? He sounded like those needy bints he'd left in their beds after a roll!_

_Of course it was a one time thing! It couldn't be anything else._

"I think it's for the best, Malfoy."

The surname again.

Was she discarding him? Was he truly nothing more to her than a one-night stand? _It was her first time for Circe's sake!_ He felt like he'd been blasted with a hex powerful enough to bowl him over and leave him gasping.

_Why was he reacting this way?_

Hadn't he been telling himself the same last night, swearing to himself as he fell asleep that he had to make sure nothing like this happened again?

"I think you're right, Granger," he replies, making certain it comes through in his voice that he doesn't give a damn. "But then again, you're always right."

Her eyes flash, her expression is both sultry and dismissive. He can tell she still wants him, but she also seems, in equal parts, eager to rid him from her sight.

_Good_.

He feels the same way.

_Liar_.

"Well, then, Malfoy, I have to go. Work summons," she arranges a bright smile on her face and sends him a little wave.

Then she disapparates with a crack.

* * *

"Looks like someone had a satisfactory tumble last night."

Hermione curses herself for not apparating straight into her bedroom. She clutches her jumper and stockings to her chest and turns to view a most unwelcome sight.

Ginny Weasley wears an openly curious, teasing little smile on her face as she sips her morning tea. To her left is one Harry Potter, pretending to read the paper. To his left is Lavender Brown who peers inquisitively at Hermione, who'd just materialized in the room adjoining the breakfast nook.

Hermione furtively glances around, thanking her lucky stars that Ron is no where to be found.

"I don't want to talk about it, Ginny." Hermione snaps. Harry's head whips up at the sharp tone.

"You OK?" he asks, worried.

Hermione nods, afraid she'll start crying again if she has to speak.

"Are you ready for today?" he asks gently.

"What?" she replies completely confused.

"Hermione, you're meeting your new pupilmaster at the Ministry today," Ginny answers off-handedly. "You've been preparing for this for ages! Don't worry, love, you'll do fine. He, or she, adore you. You've completed all of the pre-requisite courses for the DMLE with academic honors! Just be yourself!"

"And don't forget! We're all gathering at my salon after work today, too," Lavender chimes in. "We've got to get you all glamoured up for this tonight's auction."

_Oh, my God!_

How could she have forgotten about her meeting with the yet unknown barrister who will likely define her fate with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? And why had it slipped her mind that tonight was the night of that ridiculous "Date with Destiny" charity auction?

_Ugh! Stupid Malfoy and his stupid, hot man body!_

At the look of horror on her face, Harry leaves the table, much to Ginny's irritation, to get to her side.

"Look, I know you were with Malfoy last night," he says quietly, steering her to her bedroom. "Did he do something to you? Do you want me to go and hex his arse into the next century?"

She stares, wanting to respond with a joke and laugh at his concern, but instead she replies with a horrified whisper.

"No, Harry!"

The vehemence of her response leaves them both a little stunned. At his wide-eyed stare, she drops her bundle to the floor and cradles her burning red face in her hands. From between her fingers she stares at her crumpled clothes and discovers a familiar dark tie wrapped around her jumper.

"Merlin, what have I done?" she moans.

"I don't think I really want to know, Hermione," he whispers ruefully, "but, I think you might need to go straighten things out with him if you're planning on starting to cry again. I can't take it, really. You've finally gotten over breaking up with Ron. I don't think I can stand watching you put yourself through that sort of suffering again, especially with the Ferret."

He pats her shoulder comfortingly and sends a helpless look over her head toward Ginny.

"Hermione," the redhead calls. "Not to worry, love, you'll be fine today! You'll forget all about your mysterious bloke once the price on your Date with Destiny Holiday Hamper hits the hundreds of galleons."

Lavender murmurs her agreement.

Every witch and wizard in the know had been looking forward to this year's annual charity event since last spring. In charge were Cho Chang, the Patil sisters, and Justin Finch-Finchley, who'd taken the wizarding world by storm a few years back with their increasingly popular event planning business, _Three Witches and a Warlock, _those close to them secretly called them Cho and Co.

According to_ Witches' Weekly_, the women and Justin really had something going this year with their mystery date auction to benefit Harry's War Orphans Home for Children. It was sizing up to be one of the most lavish events since the end of the war.

The popularity of Harry's annual charity fundraiser, combined with the drawing power of Cho and Co. had attracted coveted RSVPs from a large number in the Who's Who of the wizarding world. The night would see not only the nouveau riche, but also some more notorious pureblood names, wealthy bachelors and bachelorettes, all looking to clear their family titles of Voldemort's dark mark by spending an inordinate amount of money for a cause so near and dear to the great Harry Potter's heart.

Chang and Co.'s idea for the auction was to have all some very popular single witches create a holiday hamper filled with items they would be willing, even wanting, to use while on a date with a wizard. These baskets of goodies would go up for auction without anyone knowing who had created each Date with Destiny Holiday Hamper. The blokes would discover who they'd be sharing the items with only after securing the winning bid on the basket of their choice.

Everyone was atwitter about it.

"You'll have the richest and most handsome wizards vying for your mystery date hamper, Hermione," Lavender sighs dreamily. "Your old beaus, Viktor and Cormac will be there. They're sure to recognize some items you put in your basket, won't they? In fact, I heard that Theo Nott wanted to put in a bid on your basket. Have you seen him lately? He's doesn't look stringy now... quite grown into himself, actually. Cho and Pavarti teased him about calling to find out if he could pre-bid on your mystery date basket... sight unseen. They informed him that it would be cheating to do so and that no, he couldn't have a clue as to what was in your hamper so that he'd be sure to pick the right one."

The two at the table dissolve into girlish giggles and launch into excited chatter about the night's events. But at the obvious lack of response from Hermione, her two girlfriends grow more concerned.

"You aren't truly worried about meeting you pupilmaster, are you?" Ginny gently inquires. "Academic types adore you, Hermione. It won't matter how difficult the questions will be that they'll ask of you. Because, no matter what, your answers will be brilliant. We all know that you're always right!"

At her friend's cheery assurances and the hauntingly familiar words, Hermione lets out an anguished sob, rushes into her room, and slams the door shut.

The three outside look at each other in confused silence.

* * *

As soon as Hermione catches sight of the person behind the desk, she nearly faints. The universe was certainly playing cruel tricks on her today. Never in a million years could Hermione have guessed who would serve the role as her pupilmaster during her upcoming law course.

Summoning up her last vestige of courage, Hermione strides into the experienced barrister's office with a ready smile and outstretched hand.

"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. What an unexpected pleasure to discover you will be my pupilmaster through my Bar Vocational Course..."

* * *

"...and so Mrs. Malfoy, _my new pupilmaster_, tells me that she chose me specifically," Hermione cries exasperatedly as Lavender wrestles to pile the whining witch's hair into an elegant up-do. "As if I need to know she wants to work with me after..." Hermione's voice drifts as she realizes she is going to reveal something in her rambling that she'd rather not make public knowledge.

"After _what_, Hermione?" Ginny asks innocently. She is sitting in a neighboring salon chair flipping through the latest magical fashion magazine.

"..err... after Malfoy... uh... Draco Malfoy, her son..."

"Yes, we know who _he_ is," Lavender lightly teases, exchanging a knowing look with Harry about their friend's uncharacteristic fumbling of words. "What did Draco tell his mother about you?"

"Apparently, he's been stalking me or something," Hermione huffs, secretly pleased, since she'd been pretty much doing the same to him since the war's end. "And he knew I was going to be looking to work with an experienced barrister to pass the bar. I had no idea that his mother was even involved with magical law!"

"She became a familiar face at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while Lucius was in Azkaban," explains Harry absently. "But it was her secret role in aiding Snape, starting our first year at Hogwarts, that allowed her to study the Bar Vocational Courses under pseudonym at one of the most prestigious academies specializing in magical law. She secretly trained with Amelia Bones up until her death in '96."

"Wow, Amelia Bones?" Hermione breathes, clearly impressed. "She was one of the greatest witches of the century! So, Mrs. Malfoy was working against her husband the entire time?"

Harry shrugs.

"Why do you think he was imprisoned in the first place?" he says. "Mrs. Malfoy must have figured that Azkaban was the safer choice for Lucius who was basically Voldemort's lapdog years prior," he surmised. "Who else could have possibly provided such damning evidence against him? Certainly not Draco!"

Ginny laughs.

Lavender and Hermione turn sharply to regard Harry, but the latter simply turns to tilt his head at the salon mirror to admire his stylish 'do, recently accomplished by the shoppe's newly acquired magic shampoo and style shears.

"I daresay, ladies, you are all looking quite gorgeous!" Harry announces affectionately, his infectious crooked smile drawing admiration from all three women. "What a lucky bloke I am to be able to escort England's finest witches to tonight's festivities."

"You'll only be coming home with one," Ginny adds, her smile widening at the prospect.

"Only if he chooses correctly," Lavender warns. "I hope you put something in your hamper to ensure Harry picks the right one, Ginevra."

Ginny frowns at the use of her full name, but nods as a secret smile graces her lips. Unbeknownst to her companions, Ginny was thinking of the favor she paid to Viktor by secretly putting a male quidditch glove into Hermione's hamper before handing their baskets over to Cho yesterday afternoon. She certainly hoped the quidditch star fared better with the Smartest Witch of Her Age than her own brother had.

Convinced that all Hermione needed was some sweet familiarity to ease her back into the dating scene, the redhead shuts the magazine and turns to her friends. Ginny only hoped that the arrogant Cormac didn't get the wrong idea, since it had been _his_ quidditch glove that she'd "borrowed" to place in Hermione's basket. After all, she couldn't very well use one of Harry's or Ron's! _What would they think?_

Lavender, on the other hand, was musing about the music charm she'd placed on Hermione's hamper. It was ready to go off tonight as soon as Lee gave her the signal to wave her wand at it from her seat in the audience. Certainly Christina Aguilera's song would mean something to Draco, at least enough to get him to bid on the basket, if only for old time's sake. She truly wanted to see Hermione happy and the former Slytherin, for whatever reason, seemed to be able to do that for Hermione, even if it was just for moments at a time.

As the two women pondered the value of their matchmaking attempts, Harry's thoughts flew to the favor he asked of Cho, wondering if his childhood crush had been able to add a certain garter with emerald green ribbons to Hermione's mystery date basket. He'd ferreted the feminine frivolity out of Hermione's wardrobe while pretending to search for Crookshanks last week. When Ginny and Lavender had been twittering about hints, he'd remembered Hermione's unconscious chatter during the horcrux hunt that had caused him extreme discomfort at discovering that not only was Hermione prone to wearing something so unlike the schoolmarm image she so successfully conveyed, but that his archenemy was one to gain unmitigated excitement from such things.

He sincerely hoped that the garter hint would ring loud and clear for Draco tonight.

_The git had better bid on the damn thing!_

After all, Harry frowns with displeasure, he had no intention of facing Hermione's rage without at least ensuring the two stubborn mules had a proper date first!

Meanwhile, Hermione, wonders idly if her hamper of date items would be interesting enough to garner the eye of _any_ eligible wizard. She'd been fretting for weeks before she'd at last done something about putting one together. Having only one man on which to base her ideas off, she had no concept of the sort of things to put in the blasted basket that might attract the sort of wizard she'd want to date.

With the deadline to submit hampers quickly approaching and her frustration mounting just as fast, Hermione, had, on a whim, ended up stocking her basket with things that _she_ would use on a first date: A copy of her magical sketching quill, some fine parchment, a pair of tickets to the Tate Gallery, a leather-bound book of sonnets, two pretty wine glasses to go with the bottle of French Bordeaux, a candle, and a small collection of expensive eats to compliment the wine. And before wrapping it all up, she'd placed a Muggle CD featuring Norah Jones in the basket... just for kicks.

She grimaces at the memory of comparing her basket of loot with those of her roommates. She blushes at the thought. Based on _that_ humiliating episode, her hamper certainly wasn't going to attract the men her friends had earlier contended would be looking to bid on her mystery date basket.

There was no use thinking about what Malfoy might do. There wasn't much in there that might indicate that the basket was hers. She couldn't think about him not knowing what she'd secretly like from a date. They'd only been physical with one another, hardly ever spoke, how could he possibly know what she'd like? Thoughts of him possibly likely _never_ knowing hurt too much to contemplate. So her musings turned to what her roommates had earlier reported about the wizards who would be in the paying audience tonight.

The mere idea of Theodore Nott, newest Potions professor at Hogwarts, at all interested in her seems preposterous to Hermione. He might be an academic, but he was still a man and by the looks of what _some_ women might have placed in their baskets, the purported virile male in Theo Nott would more likely vie for a negligee in a hamper before showing the slightest interest in a poetry book Hermione adored.

In retrospect, Hermione realizes that her hamper of dating paraphernalia would more likely attract another _witch_ and less a wizard intent on a good time.

With a sigh, she sends her reflection a weary smile. Her magical glamorous image tries to cheer her with a thumbs up and a, "You look beautiful, Hermione. Enjoy yourself tonight."

* * *

"One thousand galleons going once..." announces an animated Lee Jordan, the evening's auctioneer.

In a lower tone, suggesting he is letting everyone in on a little-known secret, Lee adds, "Gentlemen, let me tell you, as a former Gryffindor, this scarlet and gold negligee that is so demurely tucked into this hamper... and the golden snitch that's wrapped up in it... promises a bloke many wonderful things. Are you quite certain that you are willing to let this one get away for so very little? One thousand galleons hardly does this prize package justice."

There is a burst of good-natured, deep chuckling that sweeps through the room. Everyone in attendance knows Lee is simply trying to drive up the cost, which had already surpassed the bid on the hamper with the highest price tag by 500 galleons. Besides, all the red-blooded wizards in the room knew that this particular hamper truly belonged to one Harry Potter. It all but spelled his name out in floating faerie lights.

_Wait. It just did exactly that._

The crowd bursts into laughter as Harry flushes a bright red. Watching the smile on Potter's lips falter, Blaise decides to tweak the savior of the wizarding world.

"1,500 galleons!" Blaise shouts, elbowing a morose Draco at his side. "It's Ginny Weasely's basket, Malfoy. Take a look at Potter over there trying to kill me with his eyes."

Interested for the first time this evening, Draco slides his gaze over to the table he'd been careful not to examine too closely. Sure enough, Potter's infuriated gaze is fixed on Zabini.

_Well, the git had it coming. The nerve of him, sitting next to Granger!_

"5,000 galleons!" bellows Draco, wanting in on the bidding to stick it to Potter.

"Draco!" Blaise chokes on his drink.

"Why should you have all the fun, Zabini?" Draco smirks, enjoying the clear look of aggravation now fixed firmly on Potter's face. Hermione didn't look all too pleased with Draco's bid, either, come to think of it.

_There might be some fun in this after all._

He watches the She-Weasel grabbing at Harry's arm but she isn't quick enough to keep Potter from standing and pointing a wand at Zabini and Malfoy's table.

"Jordan! 6,000 galleons, you git. Call it. Now!" roars Harry.

A surprised gasp from the crowd and some nervous feminine giggles follow the outburst as Cho tut-tuts at Harry, and gently, but sternly relieves him of his wand. Lee hastily announces that the hamper is won by none other than _the_ illustrious Harry Potter and, of course, Ginny gracefully goes to retrieve her basket to place in her beloved's lap, giving him a sound kiss on the lips.

"Well, now wasn't that exciting?" Lee exclaims. "By the way, gentlemen, your wands should be tucked away in the house safe right now so we can avoid such attempts at overexcited hexing." Lee sends a pointed look at Harry who looks appropriately admonished. "Well don't look now, but here comes our next Holiday Hamper all decked out in periwinkle pouffery."

_Ugh, who'd made that? _ Hermione thinks with a frown.

"The Lady who fashioned this hamper thinks you might like a walk through the famous Muggle Tate Gallery," Lee reads from the script.

Recognizing her wording to the description of her previously perfectly put together basket, Hermione sends a look of outrage at a grinning Ginny who's sending a thumbs up to Viktor at the next table over. Hermione averts her face from the stage, suddenly desirous to visit the loo.

"While there, you will share a delightful time trying to reproduce some of your favorite works of art on some fine grade parchment with a special sketching quill, developed by the witch herself."

Draco startles at the description. He knows of a special sketching quill. Blaise notices his mate's sudden interest and decides to listen more closely to Lee as he reads the description of the newest Holiday Hamper.

"Your mystery lady enjoys a fine French bordeaux and candlelight. She'll also whisper a lovely sonnet into your ear as you enjoy some treats to accompany your libation…. And... _ahh_..."

Lee lifts the paper closer to his face, muttering something about messy scratched out writing. "_Hmm._..oh yes... The date wouldn't be complete without flowers…"

Hermione frowns.

_Had she placed flowers in her hamper?_

No, she's sure she hadn't. Her gaze narrows at her meddling table mates. She notices Ron nodding at Justin, who then nods at Theo Nott. Her gaze takes in a slow smile that snakes onto Theo's lips. Ron catches sight of Theo and his features turn instantly livid.

… and music," Lee smiles a little and looks up to wink at Lavender. Ready for her cue, Lavender flicks her well-hidden wand at the stage at the periwinkle concoction. As she stares at it, Hermione decided that her basket looks like something a bordello vomited up, and she gasps when it starts to send sultry music into the room. She groans inwardly, recognizing the song instantly.

**Now you better give me a little taste  
Put your icing on my cake**

Draco and a number of other wizards grow stock still as the familiar line from the tune hits their ears.

_Uh-oh, _ Lavender thinks, when at least a dozen pairs of masculine eyes latch onto hers. She hadn't realized that the other wizards she'd used the song with might accidentally mistake the basket for hers.

_Merlin's balls, what have I done?_ Lavender internally moans, as she frowns and shakes her head at her would-be suitors.

The overtly sexual line that slides out of the hamper has Hermione whimpering helplessly feeling the distinct need to crawl under the table in absolute mortification. _What had her friends done to her?_

She notices Ron shifting uncomfortable looks between her and Lavender. His hand slowly places his bidding paddle next to his empty dessert plate. Hermione sends him a wan smile.

I didn't, she mouths silently. He shakes his head and responds with a sad sort of smile before turning to stare at Lee. With that, Hermione bravely stiffens in her seat, clenching her jaw, itching for a wand to hex Lavender Brown to kingdom come.

"Well, I guess that means dessert, which could very well explains the inclusion of this very sexy little garter with the emerald green ribbon holding the scrap together. I hope you're talented at making icing," Lee ad-libs not really knowing what he was suggesting.

At the resulting sound of guffaws accompanied by shocked choking and coughing, Lee reaches into the basket to pull out the aforementioned scrap of lace. He holds it up in the air to appreciative hoots and whistles from the male-dominant crowd. Hermione glares at her friends, _make that former friends_. Her eyes rest at last on Harry who has now grown a curious shade of scarlet.

_She was going to hex him to an inch of his life, too. _

"Our witchy witch has given you a hint, fellows, of who she'd like the bidder to be," continues Lee with growing confidence, despite his most recent grouchy remark about not being compensated enough to read such atrocious handwriting.

Blaise holds his breath wondering if he is going to hear Lee announce the one item he'd convinced Padma to include in Hermione Granger's basket.

_If _this was _her_ basket. He glanced at Malfoy who was listening raptly, the muscles in his jaw clenching. Otherwise, he didn't appear any different... not to people who didn't know him.

_How fortuitous would it be if this indeed was Granger's hamper?_

"Ensconced in this basket of goodies is a fellow's quidditch glove… Say, any of you blokes missing yours?" Lee chuckles as he spots Cormac McLaggen raising his hand in the back. Ginny frowns, as does Viktor.

Then Lee raises an eyebrow as he scans the next line. "And... ah, well this hardly comes as a surprise since the ribbon on the garter is green. An emerald and silver scarf appears to play a central role in this holiday hamper."

An appreciative roar goes up in the crowd as all the men hailing from Slytherin House, past and present, raise their bid paddles and wave them in the air.

All at Harry's table stare questioningly at one another while a brilliant grin spreads across Blaise's mouth. Before Draco spies the self-satisfied expression, Zabini covers his face to cough dramatically into his napkin. Theo, on the other hand, who was having doubts about the identity of the witch who owned the basket, stares speculatively at his robust friend hacking away into his hand, and then back at Draco who hasn't taken his eyes off a certain former Gryffindor.

A switch goes off in Theo's head. He smiles and raises his own bidding paddle, prepared for a fight.

Back at Harry's table, Hermione is seething, with more than half a mind to stalk out of the room in abject humiliation and swear off men and close girl friends for life. Before she can make good on the impulse, Harry's hand clamps onto her thigh, beneath the tablecloth.

"Wait, Hermione," he whispers against her ear.

Draco's eyes narrow across the room as he sees the intimacy.

"For the record, I'm not really sorry for my part in this. You can hex me for it later, I promise. But you need to stay and watch. Let's call it a lesson in character building."

She huffs and tries not to slump angrily in her chair with arms crossed against her midnight blue evening gown. Hermione shifts uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the weight of someone drilling holes into the back of her head. She resists the itchy impulse to turn and discover who might be staring at her. Besides what was the use? She already knows who it is.

"All right mates, hold onto your thestrals!" shouts Lee delightfully at the level of interest in the basket beside him. "Opening bid is 500 galleons!"

The opening bid had a few dropping their hands immediately.

"1000 galleons."

"That's from Viktor," Ginny whispers happily through a toothy smile.

"1,500 galleons," shouts Cormac. Ginny's smile immediately turns upside down

"Bloody hell, don't those gits realize the mystery witch wants a Slytherin?" Ron grumbles irritatedly into his drink, his hand tapping furiously against the numbers of his bidding paddle. Hermione sends a worried look at Harry who picks up the silent plea and turns to Ron.

"Hey, Mate," Harry says, clapping a hand onto Ron's shoulder. "You going to bid on this one?"

"2,000," shouts Marcus Flint. Hermione grimaces, so does everyone else at the table.

"Bloody hell, no," Ron replies heatedly. For a moment, he rests a troubled, suspicious look at Hermione, but says nothing, then looks away. Lavender places a calming hand on the crook of Hermione's elbow, both to soothe and to take the place of Harry's now absent touch. Lavender, after all, was just as intent on keeping their friend in the room to see this through.

"How about we go outside while the snakes wrestle this one out?" Harry suggests to the brooding redhead.

"Sounds like a plan," Ron says with a grateful smile that also happens to reflect Hermione's. But she barely registers their departure when she hears the bid rise to eye popping heights.

"3,000" shouts Viktor.

A loud groan comes from the crowd. The bidding had now hit a level that knocked most men in the room out of the running. The sound incites the remaining bidders to outrageous male one-upmanship.

"4,000" a deep voice bellows.

_Theodore Nott._

Lavender gasps. Merlin. His voice alone inspired thoughts of hot, sweaty sex. Lavender would have been out of her mind jealous, had she not believed some of these bids were for her and her little music charm. She glances at Hermione's blanched face and instantly feels remorse.

"You, OK, Hermione?"

Hermione gulps and nods, reaching out a shaky hand toward her goblet to take a sip of water.

"5,000" counters another voice, familiar in its lazy drawl.

_His first bid if… well, you didn't count the one he'd made just to enrage Harry_.

A shiver races down Hermione's spine.

"6,000," shouts Viktor.

"7,000" Theo says, calmly lifting his paddle. He looks to Blaise and Draco while Viktor stews and commiserates with his friends. Draco also appears to hesitate.

"It's Hermione's hamper, isn't it," Theo asks Blaise, loud enough for Draco to hear. Blaise gives Nott one quick nod, ready to pounce on Draco if he should be inspired to violence at such an inopportune time.

"9,000" Draco says, casually flicking up his bidding paddle, seemingly unable to remove his gaze from the ridiculous-looking basket.

"10,000" Theo counters.

As he takes a serene sip of his champagne, Draco silently raises his bidding paddle to indicate a higher bid. Lavender describes this to Hermione, who can't very well see the wizard since her back is to him. Hermione wants to hide behind her sweaty palms but finds she cannot move.

"11,000 to Mr. Malfoy," crows Lee excitedly. "Do I hear 12,000?"

Cho and co. are beaming in the corner while loud angry foreign words, likely Bulgarian curses, spew from Viktor. This causes some at his table to pull the wizard to the bar for a drink. Clearly, his funds were not able to cover the cost of the basket up for grabs.

"My man is down," groans Ginny quietly, taking a swig of her drink, turning to eye the Slytherin table. "Merlin, Hermione, take a look what you've inspired."

Taking a surreptitious look over her shoulder she sees that Draco and Theo look like they're about to duel each other for rights over the basket. As it is, the price is exorbitant and it looked like minus their wands, this was the only way they could let out their aggression toward one another is any sort of socially acceptable manner.

"Did you have any idea that Theo had that much money to spend?" Ginny whispers to Lavender.

"There have been rumors," Lavender replies, turning to view the two men. Theo had just raised the stakes to 13,000. "So, which one do you want, Hermione?"

"Draco wouldn't have even bid on that blasted basket had you not messed with it," she hisses furiousy at Lavender. "You knew what that song would do!"

Ginny stares at her friends with open curiosity. Hermione looks fit to be tied. Lavender looks as if she's about to burst into tears.

"Ron asked Justin to put the flowers in as a fail safe so he could bid if there weren't any takers," Ginny says, trying to alleviate the tension. "Then I think Theo got Justin to give him a clue. That's how Theo knows it's yours. and that's why Ron is pissed. He knows Theo's wanted you since Hogwarts. He's taunted Ron hundreds of times, most notably whenever they find themselves drunk at a bar together. I'm sure half of this is Theo trying to prove himself to Ron and perhaps, by the look of things, to Draco, too. You've always seemed too good for him, Hermione. This is Theo's chance to man up."

In the midst of Ginny's chatter, Hermione hears the bidding hit 15,000 and she knows she has to do _something_.

She turns and finds Malfoy staring straight at her. She frowns.

Draco's gaze turns questioning as he slides his silver eyes toward Theo.

_It's his turn to counter bid, and apparently he's wondering if she wants him to go on. _

Hermione thinks momentarily about what she should do. She looks at Theo who sincerely seems intent on winning her hamper. Quietly she examines Draco, who'd quite unofficially already won her heart. The tension in the room rises as Lee prepares to countdown toward the winner.

"15,000 going _once…_" Lee calls out to the stunned crowd.

Can't risk it, her brain screams at her. And in her self-protective state, Hermione listens to her usually reliable brain.

She shakes her head at Draco and watches him deflate in front of her very eyes.

She'd chosen wrong.

"Going _twice…_"

_Oh shit! She'd chosen wrong!_

Lee's drawn out countdown has Hermione glancing once more at Draco, who'd turned away from her and therefore, blind to her change of heart. His blond head is slightly bent toward Zabini who is furiously whispering something to him. Hermione's regretful glance is then met by Blaise's angry, glinting eyes.

"...and sold! This delightful Holiday Hamper goes to Mr. Nott for the outstanding price of 15,000 galleons! Our regrets to Mr. Malfoy who was distracted by his table mates and therefore unable to offer a counter bid."

Draco lifts a hand in gracious defeat. It's a slightly shaky hand wave, Hermione notices. And an eruption of applause and appraising shouts has Hermione gritting her teeth.

On a regretful sigh, she pastes on a smile. She is about to stand to claim the basket and her handsome date but finds herself frozen in place when she catches sight of Blaise and Draco approaching her table. The audience is still focused on Theo who is looking mighty proud and playing up to the applause.

A hand shoots out to grip her bare shoulder in the midst of the revelry .

"You can have your blasted date with Nott," Draco seethes behind a tight toothy smile, looking to everyone who might notice the amiable aristocrat greeting one of Potter's friends and apologizing for not having come through with his hefty donation. Hermione pastes a similar smile on her lips, waiting for him to continue. Her eyes are trained warily on Blaise's tall, silent silhouette.

"Your hamper belongs to me, and you know it," Draco continues, his tone angry, hurt. "Use the Tate tickets, but don't you dare use anything else with him. You can have your fun, but Theo can't have you."

Barely controlling her fury, Hermione tilts her face to find herself lost in his mercurial stare. She's incensed at him for making such inappropriate possessive demands. He'd given her no promises and she'd been quite clear that they had no future together.

_Why did he insist on continuing this way?_

"I can use _whatever_ I like," Hermione replies stubbornly, her fake smile wide and her tone unnaturally pleasant, just barely masking her supreme aggravation. "You obviously didn't want what my hamper had to offer, Draco, at least not enough to have a say in what I decide to do with it."

He lets out a short, surprised, irritated breath and she watches a dangerous flash in the depths of his gaze– angry because of her confusing passive aggressive behavior.

Hermione knows she's being unfair. She's just as mightily enraged at herself for her swinging indecisiveness. She stiffens as she feels his grip tighten on her shoulder and notices his face moving closer to hers. She works quickly to gather up her defenses before he can lash out and hurt her again. To anyone else he might be placing a chaste buss on her cheek.

"Don't forget who you left your knickers with last night, Hermione," Draco angrily rasps against the whorls of her ear, sending a shock of electricity throughout her traitorous body. Apparently he is also adept at masking his frustration under a veneer of serene urbanity. Both Ginny and Lavender seem oblivious to the tension between the two of them, so amused are they by Theo's theatrics across the room.

"Don't forget who had you screaming in pleasure over and over again last night," his soft growl grows seductive as he, too, is caught up in the memory. He thumb gentles enough to rub tiny circles along the back of her shoulder. He smirks against her temple as he spies her pulse racing in the hollow of her throat. "What's between us... It isn't over, Granger, in fact, it's just beginning."

She frowns up into his stormy gaze before he turns away. She feels his fingers tremble against her shoulder and belatedly notices how Blaise is quick to grip Draco's arm when they leave her side. She watches them quietly slip out of the ballroom as the applause finally dies down.

Shaken, Hermione pastes on another plastic smile as she gets up to retrieve her ridiculous basket. Stunned, gawking eyes follow her to the stage. Shamefaced, she tries not to stumble on her way up. Butterflies are swarming in her stomach. She grabs hold of the hideous hamper and carefully makes her way through the tables to place it in front of a beaming Theo.

She bends down to offer him a light, congratulatory kiss on his cheek and is surprised to find herself pulled into a kiss that has the already stunned audience gaping.

* * *

_Author's note:_

15,000 galleons = $72,146.34 = £45201.71

My eternal thanks to everyone who responded to my request about your thoughts on Hermione's perfect date. Now you know why I needed ideas. To _wolfiegirl83_ and _Igneous Pride_ thank you for your notes on her need for culture. _Voldyismyfather_: books, ahhh… how could I not think of that? _Aviddaydreamer_ for the thoughts on intimacy and less flash, and, of course, to _DHLane_ for the inspiration of all else that helped fashion this chapter, you know what I mean, thanks, love.

_HG4eva_ - I'm holding some of your thoughts in my head for later, thank you!

This story belongs to its readers just as much as it is mine.

Happy Reading!

~foggy


	9. To Provoke a Prat

It was a good thing Malfoy decided he needed to talk to the witch before they blazed a trail out of the ballroom. As it was, Zabini had half a mind himself to lay into the former Gryffindor for playing his already high-strung friend like a squeaky violin.

He glances at Draco who is proceeding to tell Hermione whatever it is he feels needs to be said.

Zabini scowls at her tinny smile.

It had taken Blaise the better part of the day to coax Draco out of mini-Malfoy Manor, a moniker he'd given Draco's in-town residence, and convince the prat that he had an obligation to attend the damned charity event with him. With all the effort Zabini had invested in ensuring Padma prominently displayed the House scarf in Hermione's hamper, Blaise would be buggered if the incessantly moody Malfoy wouldn't even bother himself to show up and bid on the sodding thing.

Upon his mid-morning arrival, while at the receiving end of Malfoy's wand, Blaise had discovered that his plan to entice Malfoy to bed Granger had worked!

He hadn't expected it would occur so quickl, and had been duly impressed by his friend's skill with the witches. It wasn't until he was threatened with a particularly painful hex that Zabini realized how sexing it up with the Gryffindor bookworm hadn't lightened Malfoy's surly mood in the least.

Blaise wasn't naive enough to believe his own suggestion that a single night with Granger would cure Draco of his many ills, there were far too many dark spaces in Malfoy's past to allow for such a thing to happen. So many, in fact, that Blaise was surprised Draco approached Granger at all.

Regardless the _how_ of things, Draco had made it happen, and once it happened, Blaise had convinced himself there would be a change... _something_... no matter how small... and that it would be for the better... not make things infinitely worse!

As he'd wrestled the wand from Malfoy that morning, Blaise, for the umpteenth time, wondered if he shouldn't just haul Draco to St. Mungo's and find the most discreet mind healer to help his friend deal with his many issues.

Zabini, an auror in Potter and Weasley's class, certainly wasn't trained to deal with the problems that plagued Draco. They were ones Malfoy silently suffered and would never admit to having, except when he was deep in his cups and with Zabini.

_Only then._

Because of this, Blaise had done his Slytherin best, through stealth and cunning, to give Draco a chance at healing his past hurts. Zabini had decided that if there was one person who was going to scale the fortress the former Slytherin prince had built around himself, it would be Granger.

What Blaise hadn't counted on was her reticence to assist. She _always_ helped. She helped anyone and any_thing_, but this time, for reasons unknown to Zabini, Granger seemed downright unwilling to give Draco any assistance. This enraged him all the more since he knew just how much Draco had given up to protect her.

Regardless their history, Blaise still wondered how such a promising evening could have ended like this.

It was due to pride, likely, and perhaps some latent prejudice.

But both were on Granger's part.

_Not Draco's._

As the quiet interplay continued between Granger and Malfoy, Blaise turns to regard Theo, who is certainly not being a charitable winner. Blaise shifts his stance attempting to block Draco's view of their friend, silently hoping he'll be able to usher Malfoy out before he catches sight of Nott's antics.

_No such luck._

Before they're able to exit, Draco turns and immediately lays eyes on Theo who has fallen back into his chair and is, for lack of a better word... _leering... _at Hermione as she begins to make her way up to the stage to claim her basket. The entire audience seems shocked silent that she has anything to do with the periwinkle eyesore on the stage.

Turning to view Draco, Blaise is able to immediately recognize warning signs that has him grabbing Malfoy's arm and dragging him out of the ballroom before the blond is overcome with a disturbingly violent fit that this time would be publicly aimed at maiming his _other_ best friend.

_**

* * *

Back in the Ballroom

* * *

**_

During their bidding war, Theo had witnessed the silent conversation between Hermione and Draco. He'd nearly crowed in triumph when he realized that Hermione had chosen him over Malfoy. The grinning, boyishly handsome Potions professor stood watching his fantasy witch approach the stage to collect that ridiculous and confusing basket of hers. As she totters on her borrowed high heels to face him, the spotlight bathes her feminine form. The mere sight of her under the soft light that takes his breath away.

_Gorgeous Granger_.

Her hips sway unconsciously as she tentatively makes her way down the stage steps and begins her unsteady, obviously flustered approach.

_Precious_.

Theo falls back into his seat with a dramatic swoon, drawing a smattering of appreciative laughs from the crowd. His motion even manages to summon an amused, shy smile from Hermione.

His heart leaps.

Theo had admired this girl's sharp intelligence when they'd been at Hogwarts. He'd harbored a crush on Hermione since the first time her hand shot up in class their First Year. He'd watched her for another five, unable to approach her due to house rivalries and the unswerving loyalty of her two Gryffindor lapdogs. Not to mention the one snake who seemed always to tear him down just when he managed to gather up enough courage to approach her.

Theo's unrequited love for Hermione had grown with every passing term. When the war interrupting their academic pursuits, he yearned to capture the eye of the adored war hero, the young woman praised by all for her bravery and compassion in battle.

And tonight, against all odds, Theo Nott had won a date with a woman who'd at last picked him from her seemingly vast crowd of admirers.

The sight of Hermione's approach alone is swoon worthy, Theo thinks, sending her a sensuous smile in return.

She looks heavenly.

Hermione leans into him to offer him a peck on the cheek, but Theo's euphoria of at last winning the girl from the likes of _both_ Weasley and Malfoy has him pulling her onto his lap and into his strong embrace.

She smells heavenly.

His lips finds her shocked ones and he proceeds to place all of his pent-up emotions into this very public snog.

She feels heavenly.

He can feel her clutching at his evening jacket, catching and swallowing her quiet gasp of surprise with his greedy intake of breath.

She is...

_not what he expects. _

Because he feels...

_nothing_.

No sparks.

No heat.

_No!_

_This can't be right!_

This realization startles him and his pulls away to look at her with confusion. She returns his inquiring gaze with a friendly, yet bewildered tiny upturn of lips.

He shakes his head quickly.

"Let's try this again, Hermione."

She shrugs a little, clearly confounded. He looks intently at her, silently asking to be allowed to kiss her again. Bemused, she nods, then tilts her face into his. He wraps his hand into her topknot of curls, pulling her curves against him.

He is intent on plundering.

And again Theo captures her lips against his.

Roughly

Then softly.

Then...

his heart drops.

_Bloody hell._

He feels her smile form, just as his lips move into a disappointed frown.

"Anything?" she whispers, her eyes twinkling up at him, her mouth moving against his as she speaks.

"Not a bloody damn thing," he groans, reluctantly dragging his mouth away and gathering her up into a brotherly hug.

"Me too," she sighs with a sad sort of shrug, "nothing."

"Dammit. I wanted this so badly, Hermione. For such a very long time."

"Believe me, Theo, to have something work out with you would have been fantastic for me too," she admits ruefully, her cheek resting against the warmth of his, pleased to discover herself lacking any physical response to the closeness of him. "It's too bad, Theo. You're brilliant and... I wish..."

She looks at him wistfully.

"Indeed," he sighs, with a wry smile.

* * *

_**Outside**_

* * *

The expression of primal rage on Draco's face, aimed directly at Theo, was what had Blaise acting instantly. He'd proceeded to haul the cursing blond outside to slam him up against the wall. He'd even bothered to use his own elegantly dressed self to hold Malfoy down and keep him from returning to the room to attack their friend in Theo's time of triumph.

Now, the blond leans against a wall outside the hotel taking in huge gulping breaths while Blaise looks on, still pressing himself against him.

"So, why didn't you counter bid?" Blaise asks quietly. He let's up the pressure slightly when Draco appears steadier on his feet.

"She didn't want me to," Draco replies morosely between drawn out breaths, pushing against Zabini, indicating he needed more space.

"So, you're a mind reader, too? Merlin, Draco, please tell me that you used Legilimency on her before deciding to put down your bidding paddle!" Blaise exclaims, taking a step away from Draco, but keeping a palm firmly on his friend's shoulder.

"Legilimency," Draco softly groans, slapping a hand against his forehead. "Sodding, buggering hell! Why didn't I think of that?"

Blaise has the decency not to add to Draco's misery by calling him a prized idiot.

"You didn't win Hermione's basket?"

An incredulous voice reaches out to them from the darkness.

_Potter_.

"She didn't want him to," Blaise replies coolly, masking his confusion at Potter's clear annoyance with Draco.

"At least that's what I thought at the time" Draco adds miserably.

"For Merlin's sake, Draco, what else did we have to do to convince you that she wants to be with you?" shouts Harry, infuriated.

"Do you have any idea how many idiot friends of Hermione's it took to make that bloody hamper sing a veela's siren song out just for you?" another unmistakable voice adds.

"Weasley?" Blaise squeaks, his mouth falling open as he catches sight of the tall redhead behind Harry. They worked on the same floor at the Ministry, but rarely did Blaise have the opportunity to converse with these particular colleagues. This was certainly a first.

"Zabini," Ron nods a greeting before turning to Draco. "Malfoy."

"Weasley," Draco says, slowly straightening, working madly to regain his composure. "I'm surprised you're not dancing gleefully and singing a song of joy at my inability to win Granger's hamper."

Blaise and Harry silently watch this unlikely exchange, ready to protect their respective best mates should it become necessary.

Ron smiles ruefully before replying, "It crossed my mind, Ferret… but…"

"But?" Blaise interjects, before any worries that tensions might rise halts his inquiry.

"… But I love Hermione enough to want her happiness," Ron says with a tired, irritated sigh. "For whatever reason, the stubborn witch is happy with _you_, Ferret. Or the _thought_ of you, anyway. When we stopped seeing one another, she admitted to this _thing_ she has for you. She was gabbing with Lavender and didn't think I was listening. Anyway, she called it, 'gravity.' She's apparently unable to resist falling into whatever it is she has with you... despite you being the _worst_ person for her."

There was precious little that could bring Draco to speechlessness. But _this_ was one of those things that could leave him gobsmacked. He silently wrestles with Ron's revelation.

"She said _that_?" Draco at last asks. Ron nods, looking away, but not before the other men see his pained expression.

_... Why hasn't Weasley killed me yet?  
_

"Look, Malfoy, if you're not man enough to make Hermione happy," Ron continues, "If you're not ready to pay an outrageous amount of money for that disaster of a basket…"

Harry and Blaise chuckle.

_It had been quite hideous._

".. Not brave enough to tell her that you will not allow her to date another man when she could have you... Well, then you don't deserve her, Ferret," Ron finishes quietly, his voice choked.

Harry and Blaise look away from the two men. There are, after all, some things too difficult to watch.

"_I_ tried to give her the sort of happiness she deserves. _I am man enough to have tried," _He continues more forcefully. "But you're out here crying on Zabini's shoulder? What are you doing, Malfoy? When are you going to give Hermione what she deserves from you?"

Draco cannot meet the eyes of three surrounding him. Though he's looking elsewhere, Blaise continues to keep a hand on his shoulder through Ron's soliloquy, and Draco discovers himself thankful for the silent show of support.

In truth, when Draco did not fight against Theo for her hamper, he thought he was giving Hermione exactly what she wanted, what she deserved— a chance to perhaps find a healthier relationship without him. But the pain of watching her deny him, it had been too much, and he'd made the rash decision to approach her when he should have left the room without a word, with his dignity intact.

As soon as he was outside, he realized that he shouldn't have warned her off of Theo. _That_ had been pure selfishness. After all, just like Weasley,Theo was more than prepared to give Hermione what she wanted.

And this was why Draco was outside and not committing murder in the ballroom. Draco was actively doing _nothing_ because doing nothing meant giving her what she wanted, what she needed... and tonight, he thought she made it clear that she didn't want _him_.

She wanted Nott.

So why, despite all the obvious reasons that made Theo the better choice, did the mere thought of them together make Draco want to rip one of his best friends to shreds?

_He was pathetic._

"Hold on," Harry asks, interrupting Draco's self-pitying thoughts. "If _Malfoy_ didn't get Hermione's basket, who did?"

"Theo did," Blaise informs.

"You're not going to let that arse, Theo, win, are you?" Ron spits out, nearly as Draco was earlier..

"Oi, Theo's not an arse!" Blaise interjects. Draco nods in helpless agreement.

"He's a standup sort of bloke," Draco adds. "Probably better for Hermione then I'll ever be."

Harry and Ron each raise an eyebrow.

_Public self-deprecation? That was a new one for Malfoy._

"Apparently, you don't know much about your stand up mate," Harry informs the two. At their obvious confusion Harry goes on to explain.

"Your friend has been getting pissed with the likes of _our_ friends for years now and he brags about 'bagging' our Hermione and taking her to heights that she's never climbed before. He's been on a mission to get in her knickers since the end of the war. Ron here has blackened his eye more than two dozen times for the obscenities that spew from his vile mouth."

Draco finds himself beginning to shake with savage fury as he listens to Potter.

"Seems Theo's just won several bets tonight, thanks to your cowardice," Ron adds disgustedly. He notices Draco visibly trembling. "His winnings are likely enough to cover the cost of that bloody basket," Ron adds, keeping a careful, wary eye on Draco whose rage seems to increase with every word that is uttered against Theo.

To confirm his suspicions about what might be ailing the blond, Ron's gaze flicks to Blaise. Zabini purses his lips and imperceptibly nods three times, an auror's signal that allows Ron to send a thought into Zabini's head using an advanced form of Occlumency. Blaise presses his lips together and nods once to affirm Ron's guess as to the source of Draco's uncontrollable shuddering.

Harry notices the frisson of energy that usually comes with the swift magical exchange of thoughts among aurors. He catches Ron's gaze and they silently share the revelation provided to Ron by Blaise. Harry edges closer to Draco at a look from Zabini. This ability to speak to each other through thought is an advanced form of magic that the three had achieved during auror training. Few wizards and witches even knew such power existed.

"Nott made 15,000 galleons worth of wagers that he could shag Hermione?" Malfoy gasps, unable to keep his hands from bunching into fists.

"15,000? Merlin!" Ron exclaims, his jaw dropping, not so much at the sum but at Malfoy's use of his ex's first name. "If you'd gone that far in the bidding, Draco, why didn't you just go in for the kill?"

At the question, Draco rips himself out of Blaise's grip and stalks back into the hotel.

* * *

_**Back in Theo's Lap**_

* * *

Say, Theo?"

"Yes?" He nuzzles her neck in a last ditch effort to coax any manly response from himself while holding this witch.

_Still nothing. Dammit!_

"So, Theo," she said, giggling when he hits an especially ticklish spot. "Have you ever considered dating Cho?"

"Chang?" he absently shakes his head, distracted by his self-disgust at his lack of amorous feelings toward the girl he'd lusted after for nearly a decade. "No, Hermione, Cho's one of the untouchables— She was Diggory's girl."

"Diggory's dead, Theo," Hermione states slowly, as though speaking to one learning challenged. He cocks his head at her. She's still sitting in his lap thoughtfully contemplating the witch in the sparkling, curve-skimming, light blue gown across the room.

"And if I'm correctly interpreting the look Cho is sending me..." Hermione continues, poking a finger into his chest, "She _wants_ you."

"What, really? Are you serious?" Theo brightens, clearly interested.

"Let's just say that if she were a basilisk, I would be dead," Hermione giggles into the back of her hand, enamored by Theo's wide-eyed reaction to her observations. He really was a handsome devil, she thought absently. It was really a shame that she wanted to cuddle him up like a puppy instead of feel him up like the lone wolf he was purported to be.

Theo starts to turn his head to view the witch in question. Hermione stops him with both hands to his jaw.

"Don't look at her!" she said gasping, "You don't want her to think we're talking about her!"

"But we are!"

She huffs, impatiently.

"Well, you don't want to appear overeager!"

"Oh," he says, obviously confused. "So what shall I do?"

He pulls Hermione closer so he can hear her answer.

* * *

**Outside  
...**_**a different trio**

* * *

_

"Did you have to use _that_ word?" Blaise asks Ron, smacking the redhead's shoulder. "He might actually murder Theo now."

The three move swiftly into the building in search of the enraged blond.

"How long has he been this way?" Harry asks Blaise as the threesome enter the hotel lobby.

"Since the second year of the war," comes Blaise's terse reply as they move through the throngs of well-dressed guests emerging from the direction of the ballroom. The auction seemed complete.

"Any specific triggers for his episodes?" Ron asks. The redhead had his own troubles with Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome and had immediately recognized the signs of a triggered episode taking over Draco.

"Hermione is his trigger," Blaise says. "He won't hurt her," he says swiftly when he spies Harry and Ron exchange a look of alarm. "He gets this way when he hears or sees anything about her cozying up to a wizard he doesn't approve of. Apparently Draco doesn't think I'm good enough, for her. But Weasley, you are. And up to a moment ago, so was Theo."

"Why has he fixated on Hermione, I wonder?" Harry asks aloud, narrowly avoiding a throng of adoring females by sidestepping into a narrow side corridor and dragging his two male companions in to block the entryway which fortunately led to a small service elevator.

Blaise considers clamping his mouth shut, but these two seemed to genuinely want Draco to be with Granger. It was perplexing and it was also an opportunity. And considering the house from which he hailed, Blaise was never one to eschew an opportunity, even if his best friend might murder him for it.

"Draco thought he had to protect her from his own father… but really it was Lucius' friends," Blaise quietly reveals when they stop a moment in the temporary seclusion of the empty lift that would take them up to the auction room. "Disgusting pedophiles, the lot of them. He had to sit and listen to the Death Eaters talk about what they'd do to Hermione once they caught her. Draco had to sit there and listen, revealing nothing of his feelings for her."

Blaise pauses to consider how difficult it must have been for Malfoy, especially after having witnessed his behavior in the common room during Hermione's enslavement to Pansy. Draco was always good at hiding emotion, but when it came to Granger...

"His father's friends, they liked violating little Muggle girls, you see, but they didn't necessarily discriminate, if you know what I mean." Zabini continued hurriedly, before he changed his mind about confiding in Potter and Weasley. "I hadn't realized the extent of the atrocities Draco had to witness and eventually had to suffer until I saw him cornered by Greyback on the day when the three of you were caught at Malfoy Manor. Do you remember?"

Harry and Ron nod, wide-eyed. They would never be able to forget the sound... particularly the sound of agonized screaming.

* * *

_**Draco's in the hotel and Hermione's still perched atop Theo's legs**_

* * *

Hermione stretches over the table, shifting a little in Theo's lap. He places a hand at her waist to keep her from toppling over. She grabs hold of the basket handle, drags it forward and plucks something out of it

"It seems like you should take these two _very expensive_ Tate tickets out and bring Cho to Muggle London... show her a good time," she says tapping the tickets teasingly on his nose.

"Really?" Theo smiles up into her beaming face. "You know, you really are fantastic, Hermione. Oh, and I don't really want any of the other things... now that you it turns out you don't come with them," Theo admits, quirking an eyebrow at Hermione's hamper. "But it seems like _someone else_ might really want what you've got in there."

He stares at her, the both of them thinking about the same blond wizard. Before depression hits, Hermione grabs Theo's hand and places the tickets in his palm, closing his fingers over them.

"Go with Cho," she prompts with a slow smile.

"You really don't mind?"

"Not in the least, Theo," she laughs lightly. "After all, with what this pair cost you, at least one of us should at least get a fair shot at romance."

She smiles at him as he draws her into a grateful hug. She closes her eyes, grateful to have found a new and, yes, platonic male friend. Hermione starts to slip out of his embrace, but his arms tighten around her when they both hear a new voice interrupting their friendly exchange.

"Get your hands off of her, Nott.

* * *

_**Blaise decides to confess a shameful secret...

* * *

**_

"I was cowering in a corner, able to watch Malfoy, for the first time, stand up for someone other than himself. Of course, he picked the worst of the lot to enrage. Greyback, well, he specializes in children and Draco was little more than a boy at that time," Blaise shudders at the memory.

"Draco saw me, you see. He saw me cowering and doing nothing to protect him or Hermione from that monster," Blaise says, voice thick with regret. "Draco was the one who kept Granger from suffering the same fate he bore at Greyback's hands. Even after the beast defiled and just about mauled Draco for having the audacity to interfere, Malfoy, the stubborn arse still refused to identify Hermione or leave her alone with his aunt and Fenrir. It still baffles me how Draco wasn't killed trying to protect Granger."

"Draco did look paler than usual when I saw him," Harry recalls, " but he didn't look any worse for wear."

Blaise shoots him a sharp look of deep disgust.

_Had Potter not been paying attention?_

"But then again," Harry adds remorsefully, "I was only looking at his face."

"Greyback concentrated on wounding Draco's torso. He'd found fresh scars there," Blaise continues, his voice hushed at the memory of the violation he'd silently witnessed. Harry winces, remembering exactly how Malfoy came about having scars that criss-crossed his chest. Sectumsempre wasn't a curse a wizard could easily forget having cast.

"And...that was only the _first_ day..." Blaise's voice falters, "There are ways to emasculate and destroy a young man without leaving visible scars." Blaise stares squarely at Harry and Ron, his gaze does not waver, not until he sees the two at last recognize the horror of how Draco sacrificed part of his own innocence to preserve Granger's that fateful day.

"Fenrir didn't bite Draco," Blaise continues, indescribable revulsion clear in his tone. "He was too afraid. Voldemort still favored Lucius over the likes of him and it wouldn't have done for a werewolf to infect the pureblooded Malfoy heir. So, instead, Greyback and his aunt left Draco horrifying memories that sometimes has the poor bloke wishing for death."

Harry and Ron remain silent, digesting this chilling truth about Malfoy and what the former Slytherin had silently suffered to spare their best friend.

"Draco's not the same Slytherin prat you remember from Hogwarts, lads. The playboy image is a farce, a safe mask for him to hide behind. The womanizing, in my untutored opinion, is his need to overcompensate for terrible secrets he wants me to Obliviate from him," Blaise explains. "The Draco you don't see is fierce about protecting his privacy, positively feral about keeping children - all children - safe from harm, and more specifically, his protective instincts take over when it comes to anything that might threaten or interfere with Granger's well-being.

A lot of of this has to do with the war and the brutality he experienced at Bellatrix's and Fenrir's hands but…" Blaise's thought fades.

"… the rest of it has to do with…" Ron continues.

"… love," Harry finishes for him.

"Honestly, Zabini, none of us had an inkling of what Malfoy suffered during the war," Harry says remorsefully. "I really didn't think he had to deal with any hardships. Obviously. I— _we_ were very wrong."

"And it seems, he is still suffering because the prat's so stubborn. He doesn't realize, or won't admit that he loves Hermione." Ron says, thinking out loud, surprisingly now unbothered by the idea of Draco with Hermione together. "Maybe he's afraid he won't be able to protect her properly."

"You, Weasley, were supposed to be the one worthy of her because _all you did_ was protect her. That's all Draco's wanted," Blaise says, feeling surprising relief to at last be able to tell someone his true thoughts on the matter. "I think he knows deep down that he loves her, but Draco more fervently believes he is undeserving of her... afraid that he will be the one who ultimately hurts her the most."

The three stare at each other, frowning and shaking their heads at this particular wreckage of war.

"I always wondered what allowed Hermione to escape Bellatrix's Crucio unscathed," murmurs Harry, thoughts still whirring. 'Now it makes sense. Draco's sacrifice protected Hermione from the worst of the dark curse... something like what my mother did for me."

On that thought, the door to the elevator slides open and a startled female shriek has the three of them stepping off the lift and running for the ballroom.

_**

* * *

**_

Malfoy goes Mad  
... and gives rise to Hermione's Hope

* * *

When the trio arrives in the room, a handful of couples are huddled away from Draco and Theo who are rolling around on the dance floor. Ginny has her arms protectively around Hermione who looks absolutely furious.

The lack of a wand has Draco resorting to using his fists and he is using them to pound Theo into the ground. Cho is fumbling with the assortment of wands in her hands, seeming to be on a hunt for hers.

Lavender, whose basket was won by one of Viktor Krum's friend is shrieking up a bloody storm. Ginny, dragging Hermione with her, goes to their hysterical friend in an attempt to calm her down and shut her up.

Ron, Blaise and Harry stare at each other momentarily, wondering how they are going to go about hauling Draco off of Theo without the use of a wand.

"You don't deserve to win her, you lecherous snake," Draco lashes out. His fist punctuating his every word.

"Draco!" Blaise roars, taking a step forward. "Stop! Theo has no idea why you're trying to kill him."

"Stay away, Zabini," Draco hisses, falling back when Theo's head connects with his gut. A whoosh of air leaves him breathless. Ron, the biggest of the five, rushes over to grab Draco's arms up behind his back. Zabini does the same to Theo. Malfoy is thrashing around trying to kick Theo and wrestle out of Ron's hold.

"Draco," Ron admonishes sternly, placing his mouth quite close to the former Slytherin's ear. "This isn't the way to show her you care. It's not the way, Ferret." Ron shakes him forcefully enough to rattle his teeth. "Listen to me, mate. This isn't you. You have to snap out of this. Draco. Stop."

The quiet but commanding words instantly have the fury leaving Malfoy, sanity returns, leaving him bewildered.

"Weasel?"

"One and the same, Ferret," Ron replies.

"What's happened?" Draco asks confused, his eyes turning to take in the scene.

"You attacked Theo."

Draco gulps, straining to inspect his friend who is now being nursed by Cho and her recently retrieved wand. Theo looks furious, bloody, and beaten. Across the room and out of hearing distance, Hermione is fighting Ginny's grip. Guilt immediately fills Draco.

_What had he done? Why did he try to pummel one of his best friends into the ground?_

"Weasley, let me go," Draco says, his tone filled with remorse.

"Not until you settle, Malfoy," Ron says, though his fingers loosen somewhat.

"I am settled," Draco retorts huffily, pulling more forcefully against Ron's hands.

"I mean, we have to get a few things settled first, Malfoy," Ron clarifies, again clamping his hand down around Draco's wrists.

The blond scoffs bitterly.

"What's there to settle, Weasley?" Draco asks, twisting around to clash his silver against the redhead's deep blue. "Seems you and I are in the same boat… _without the same girl_."

"You have no idea what's happening to you, do you?" Ron asks gently, while Pavarti and Padma start to shuffle onlookers out of the room. "Look, you're going to have to fix this problem of yours before Harry and I will allow you anywhere near Hermione."

"What problem?" Malfoy asks, alarmed.

Ron raises an eyebrow.

_Oh, yes, right._

"I would never hurt her," Draco says defensively, aghast that Ron would think him capable of such a thing.

"That's why, mate, we'll allow you a few words with Hermione before we bring you home and make sure you get some help before _this_ gets any worse."

The friendly words are off-putting to Draco, who is still out of sorts and unsure of how he came to find himself in this situation. He slowly moves his head to take in the room. He stops his searching gaze when he spies her, still shaking, still staring at him with her big brown eyes.

Draco had entered the ballroom to see Hermione in Nott's lap, smiling and hugging him. Then all he'd seen was red.

_Had he thrown her off of him? Did he hurt her? What had he done? _

Draco doesn't remember, his memory loss now an extremely disturbing development to these fearsome episodes.

Watching her from afar, seeing her being held down by Ginny, the sight suddenly made it imperative that he speak to her. This need to explain himself to her mattered so much more than the need to answer the fuzzy questions in his head about why he'd bloodied Theo and ended up restrained by Weasley.

Knowing his compliance would convince the redhead to grant this wish for release, Draco grows silent and still.

Ron weighs the risks of letting him go. Thinning his lips, Ron looks to Harry who stands at the ready, watching Draco closely. When he sees Malfoy go slack in Ron's grasp, Harry makes a suggestion he thinks might be of assistance.

"If you'd like, Malfoy, I can introduce you to my personal healer," Harry offers quietly.

Draco had avoided healers for half a decade, knowing they would inevitably want to poke around in his head, dredging up dark memories better left untouched.

He scowls.

_Fear_.

For Malfoy it robs him of his temper, his anger, his belligerence.

He was scared now. The short-term memory loss was chilling. The tendency toward uncontrollable violence aimed at his best mates... _abominable_.

Fear. It causes Draco to worry about what might come next if he doesn't fix whatever it is that is ailing him.

"Is he discreet?" Malfoy inquires cautiously.

"Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck is most definitely that," Ron quietly confirms, his fingers loosening. "Healer Smethwyck is also the very best."

Fear. Draco fears hurting _her_, if he ever got near enough again... he swallows a lump in his throat, his gaze traveling again to her.

Fear. An effective motivator that allows him to answer the question in Harry's verdant gaze with an imperceptible nod.

With Malfoy's slight motion of acceptance, Ron readily releases him.

"Don't leave her like this," Ron says, belatedly grabbing onto Draco's arm, his gaze moving toward a distraught Hermione, who was still being held tightly in Ginny's arms. "Hermione needs to know you care for her. That this isn't about beating Theo, Draco. Tell her that you need to work some things out. Tell her, Malfoy. Don't let her suffer the idea that she caused your row with Nott."

Draco's eyes flash with annoyance at having to listen to Weasley's advice. While sound, it still burned him that the Weasel had matured and so obviously knew how to handle Hermione that he felt the need to instruct Draco on the delicate matters of Hermione's heart.

Malfoy purses his lips tightly, indicating with a swift head motion that he understood. Ron steps away.

Before going to her, Draco takes several steps toward Theo, who seems less angry now, but still quite clearly miffed. Cho warns him off with her wand and an uncharacteristic angry scowl.

Draco stops his advance, deciding to owl his mate later.

He turns stiffly back around and strides toward his table where the periwinkle abomination still sits atop the white tablecloth. He lifts the scarf, rummages through the items, and places a few into his jacket pocket. He knows he has an audience. Being watched does not cause him to hurry or to speak. When he is through, Draco snatches up the hamper, all its remaining items, and calmly approaches Hermione and a gobsmacked Ginny.

The time spent going through the basket had given him the much needed opportunity to sort our what he was going to say. Draco holds out a hand to her, inviting Hermione to come closer, away from prying eyes and alert ears. With a swift glance at Ginny, Hermione complies and she is once again face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, breathing in the intoxicating spicy male scent of him.

_Dizzying_.

She gulps.

"Nott won this basket tonight because I allowed it," Draco says quietly, but firmly. His head dips closer to hers, so close she can see the solemn grey of his eyes. "I shouldn't have let Theo have it for so little a cost." He moves closer, his hand at her waist, her hamper sandwiched between them.

"Hermione, you offered the contents of this hamper to me years ago. But it took last night and the events of this evening for me to realize what an idiot I've been to never have laid claim to it. I've paid a great deal more than Theo to have the right to call this mine. I am doing so now. The remaining contents of this," he nudges the hamper into her middle. "They all rightfully belong to me."

It gives Hermione pause to realize Draco isn't showing a smidgeon of arrogant entitlement, jealousy, or anger in his approach. So, for once, with no fuel to light the fire, Hermione has the presence of mind to bite back a scathing retort and even manages to refrain from asking the obvious question that had formed in her mind as he spoke.

Despite her attempts to hide her curiosity, Draco can plainly see her desire to interrogate him more fully. He smirks inwardly, secretly glad that, for a moment, she'd lost the stoicism from this morning that so ably hid her true feelings from him.

Indeed, the answer to her unasked question was that the price Draco had paid for her safety was a cost that Theo would never wish to render. But no one left alive, neither his parents nor even Blaise, knew the steep expense Draco had paid to keep Hermione alive and well during the war.

"To be clear, Hermione," he whispers, "You have given me the most precious gift of experiencing and sharing in the essence of you. To be honest, I had intended to take your generous offering and walk away, as I'd done so many times before. But this time, you walked away first."

He stares at her, neither smirk nor scowl, frown nor smile appears to touch his lips. She blushes and he is thankful for her pinked cheeks, because it is hard enough to admit these things to her without seeing her a little discomforted.

"You must know what your leaving would do to me. I never could let things lie with you. And with all that we've been through, we're also less likely to take such beauty as we discovered together last night, for granted," he sighs, placing his forehead against hers. "As much as I'd like to revert to the way I was able to handle you at Hogwarts, I've discovered, to my supreme irritation, that I still want... _you_."

Her eyes grow wide. He's rendered her, the incessant chatterbox... utterly and completely...

_speechless_.

Realizing this, Draco is unable to hold back a small boyish grin. He tenderly takes hold of her wrist and tugs her arm toward him. He peers into her emotion-filled face. A tear falls. He bends to kiss it away and gently places the handle of the basket over the crook of her elbow.

"Make no mistake, Hermione. This is mine, but I need you to take care of it for a little while," he softly explains, his silver eyes intensely focused on her. "Hold on to it for me, will you? I've been reminded and have finally come to accept that there are still some things I need to attend to before..." He reaches out to touch the scarf within. "... before we can open this _together_."

Hermione is stunned to see him so hopeful, so honest, so sweet and so vulnerable. She finds herself barely able to breathe, much less move.

As he starts to back away, she makes a quiet sound of dismay and shoots a hand out to try to make him stay. He takes hold of her hand at his sleeve, offers her a thin smile, then squeezes her fingers lightly before turning more fully.

Clutching the basket, she stares at Draco's retreating back, watching the odd sight of Ron and Harry flanking him as he makes his way back toward Blaise and the ballroom exit.

For the first time, the sight of Draco leaving does not leave Hermione with a piercing pain in her chest. Instead, she lets hope, which she'd so carefully hidden from his sight, soar within her heart at the closing of the door.

* * *

_**Author's note: **It went dark a little - depends on the darkness of your imagination... so sorry.. (this plot bunny is really evil) But it will all be happiness soon... and a transformed Draco. A few more title alliterations than I intended at first, but the end is near. _


	10. To Want a Witch

"I've been thinking, maybe I should call on Hermione, today," Ron muses out loud, surreptitiously eying the blond across the table. "It's been a few weeks since we've spoken. Maybe she needs to get out, you know, _with an old friend._"

"You can tell her you're on the outs with Lavender and need her shoulder to cry on," Harry suggests amiably, catching onto what Ron is about as he, too, sneaks a peek at the suddenly sullen man beside him. In an attempt to prod Malfoy into action, Harry adds, "And she just might be sympathetic since she knows what it's like to be left alone. Perhaps she'll be... needy for comfort as well."

Ron chuckles in that irritatingly masculine way and sends Harry a look over the blond's head. Draco catches a glimpse of the silent conversation above him. The movement that has Ron's back pinned to the wall is disturbingly swift.

"Go near her, you red-headed troll, and you won't live to regret the attempt," Draco seethes, fingers curling into Ron's shirtfront, his eyes narrowing at the aforementioned troll. "She's mine, Weasel, and if I hear that you've so much as breathed on her..."

"Blimey, Malfoy, you really do have feelings for her," Ron gasps, carefully extracting himself from Draco's grip, speaking in low tones to calm the roused blond. "From the way you'd been acting, though, we thought you'd forgotten all about our Hermione."

"She isn't _your_ Hermione," a disgruntled Draco corrects, straightening, not bothering to help Ron back to rights, and plopping himself back on his chair.

"Is that so? Well, then, I suppose that whole outburst there is your suave way of claiming her and declaring your undying love?" pushes Ron relentlessly, as he pulls at his wrinkled shirt. "You leave little doubt about your feelings, what with all that possessive, territorial posturing."

Draco shakes his head, denying Ron's supposition. Even after months spent with these two numbskulls, plus Blaise, the Slytherin version of these two Gryffindor dunderheads, Draco still finds it difficult to air his feelings.

The ludicrous thought of discussing, much less showing, his emotions grates him to no end. To be so banal goes against the very grain of being a Malfoy. Still, he knows that to practice such semi-public, mental self-flagellation may be the ticket to feeling better, removing himself from this infernal despair, and finally ridding himself of the meddling male threesome. So last week, Draco had finally convinced himself that he simply must try - if only for his sanity's sake.

To his surprise, his recent minescule attempts at _sharing his feelings_ were working.

"No, Weasley," Malfoy murmurs half to himself, a bit ashamed of the welling of some foreign weight in his chest. "You can't give someone something that you've never had yourself. Hermione deserves someone more... I don't know... _deserving_," he finishes lamely.

"That's true, Ferret. Merlin knows no one loved you back at school 'cept her, maybe," Ron remarks carelessly. Harry sends Ron a warning look to quit while he was ahead, and Ron quickly moves the conversation back to safer waters.

"You should know something about _your_ Hermione, Draco," Ron explains, undaunted by the dark look Draco shoots at him. "It's a lesson you'll have to learn, just like the rest of us blokes who've had the audacity to fall in love with the Brightest Witch of her Age."

"She's smart, annoyingly so, but she's no good with emotions or passion," Harry explains, remembering fondly the short-lived puppy love he had for his best friend before his attentions were more fully captured by Cho. Draco scoffs, feeling as though, at last, he knows something about Hermione the two had no inkling of. "Hermione doesn't know what to do with overwhelming emotion when she feels it," Harry continues on a shrug, "Usually, she just cries."

Draco frowns at this new knowledge, but remains silent, listening and remembering a particularly tender moment filled with her unexplained tears.

"She says emotions, love and passion can only be..." Harry looks to Ron for the correct wording. "'...'empirically proven.' So, while she can accept it in others, she has a hard time when she feels it herself. Passion doesn't make sense to her... _academically speaking_. She distrusts it because, according to her, emotions have no scientific reason for their existence."

"But let's not forget our own hangups. For me, at first, I didn't want to admit that I even _liked_ her, " Ron reveals, chuckling. " I did everything I could to forget her. But I found that I couldn't and after all the other women I went out with to try to forget her... Well, you start to compare and suddenly one day you realize there's no one else quite like Hermione. And when that happens, then that's when your buggered. Because that when you have to come to terms with the fact that you do actually love the witch...

"...even despite yourself," Harry adds with a slow smile. "You're a smart bloke, Malfoy," Harry continues while finishing off the last bit on the plate. Draco grimaces as the Chosen One chooses not to practice the basic manners of chewing with his mouth closed. "Don't you think you should figure this all out, and soon? You told her to wait, Draco. You haven't even contacted her since the auction except for those bizarre scraps of parchment you keep owling her. Maybe it's time to do what the mind healer suggested a week ago. Go see her."

Draco closes his eyes, massaging his temples, wondering out loud what sort of bad deed he'd done to find himself sharing repast with Potter and Weasley.

"Unless, of course, you're scared witless," Ron prods, annoyed at Malfoy's lack of response. "I do suppose you could always get a cat and be that odd old wizard who lives alone, talking to his feline for the rest of his pitiful life."

Harry snorts at the picture Ron paints and Draco sends a fairly harmless, but useful, nose-elongating jinx his way.

"I'll see her when I decide to see her, Weasley," Draco announces irritatedly. "Potter, it'll wear off eventually. Have a care about who you laugh at, old chap. Just a little visual reminder to stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Bad things happen when you do that sort of thing."

And with a slap of his galleons on the table, Draco apparates back to his flat, anxiously awaiting a much adored visitor.

* * *

Excuse me, Mrs. Malfoy, your lunch appointment is downstairs waiting for you. He said to find him in the same place as always. He disapparated before I could ask him where this place _is_ exactly."

Hermione watches the attractive Malfoy matriarch send a highly aggravated look at her recently hired young secretary, the third new assistant this month.

"And who, exactly, is _he_, Miss Bane?"

"A-a-apologies M-mrs. M-m-malfoy," the young witch blanches, spluttering nervously, papers quaking in her hand. " I-i-it was Mr. Malfoy. I-I am t-truly sorry for not specifying."

"This can wait, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione interjects quickly, sending a quick, worried glance at the stuttering girl in the doorway. After all, it had been Hermione, on her day off, who had intruded on her pupilmaster without warning and had caused Mrs. Malfoy to reschedule several meetings before lunch.

"It's quite alright, Miss Granger. In fact, why don't you go to lunch in my stead?" Mrs. Malfoy's offhanded suggestion is more command than anything else. "These questions you present affect my next trial, and already we've managed to uncover crucial information that has the potential to affect no less than three of my current cases. I have to deal with this before appearing in front of the Wizengamot."

Mrs. Malfoy stares at an open-mouthed Hermione, who is frozen in place, frantically searching for an excuse to beg off.

_Lunch with Lucius?_

The mere idea has Hermione's stomach churning as Mrs. Malfoy waves her away. "Give him my regards and apologies, Miss Granger. He's in the downstairs courtyard."

Hermione gulps, knitting her eyebrows, clenching and unclenching her fingers in rapid succession. Hermione realizes her fidgeting and immediately drops her hands, only to nervously grasp onto the billowing skirt of her peach colored sundress. Slowly she turns to leave, all the while fretting about facing Lucius for the first time since seeing him on the battlefield. Meanwhile, Narcissa reaches for her unrimmed spectacles, quickly hiding a tiny upturn in her lips as she views her twitchy young secretary and the suddenly nervous young Muggleborne witch she'd come to greatly admire, as they shut the door behind themselves.

* * *

The soothing fall of the courtyard fountain and the unexpected twinkle of a child's laugh greets Hermione's entry into the secluded little pocket of green. Her eyes scan the mini-park area where office-bound workers go to seek a little fresh air. Almost immediately, and with heart-stopping recognition, Hermione spies his familiar sharp features. Only today, his signature hair color is a _golden_ blond. She notices that in profile, the man appears entirely at ease... happy, even. He is sitting sideways on a bench, obviously engaged in some sort of game with a little boy sporting hair that is a brilliant shade of purple.

From behind a planter, Hermione halts her approach and keys into their conversation.

"Bad form, Teddy!" the man growls in mock anger, "I won that round and as agreed, I will choose your hair color today. And you will return mine to its rightful state."

A wand lifts and Teddy's hair turns a shockingly familiar platinum blond. The stubborn little boy, however, will have none of it and he quickly rectifies the situation by turning his wavy mane a breathtaking blue. Much to the child's chagrin, the hawthorne wand, one Hermione knows quite well, waves again and the icy blond hair returns to top the little boy's frowning face.

"Uncle Draco!" Teddy shouts in outrage, immediately turning his mop a fiery red. But as quick as a wink, it is silvery blond again.

"You look quite dashing, Teddy," comes a familiar drawl, tinged with amusement. "And fair is fair. You promised I could choose if I won. Besides, someone has to have my hair color today since you've managed to change mine with your underage magic!"

"You look better this way, less sharp and pointy!" Teddy insists, scrambling to his feet, just out of reach and sticking his tongue out at Draco who snarls in response as he lunges at Teddy. The laughing boy takes off running.

"Say, 'finite incantantum' you little scamp," Draco growls playfully.

The boy runs toward the planter, whipping around the corner to slam right into Hermione.

"Teddy!" Hermione gasps, her arms instinctively going around his little body.

"You had better run," Draco bellows behind the planter, obviously giving chase. "I am going to catch you and tickle you until you are screaming for mercy!"

In Hermione's arms, Teddy flicks a quick mischievous look at her before shouting over his shoulder, "Uncle Draco looks better now that I changed him, doesn't he, Hermione?"

Streaking around the planter, a gobsmacked Draco catches sight of Hermione bent over his nephew. His breath catches in his throat to see her staring up at him with big round eyes. His arm shoots out to wrap around a tree trunk to steady himself before accidentally careening into the picture perfect fantasy the woman and child presented to him.

"He does look better, right, Hermione?"

A bemused smile plays on her lips, aimed at the towheaded boy in her embrace and then her shy gaze strays back to the man in front of her.

"It's different?" she offers diplomatically, even though she secretly agreed with Teddy.

"Different? Like this?" Teddy giggles, as purple hair pops onto his head. Just as quickly, Draco changes it back to a silver blond. With a satisfied look shot at the grumbling boy, Draco pockets his wand. Turning his full attention to Hermione, Draco sheepishly drags a hand through his golden locks when he notices her still staring.

"Go play, Teddy," Hermione whispers conspiratorially to the boy, touching her wand to his head and turning it a glowing shade of green, "You'll match the trees. Your Uncle Draco can't catch you if he can't find you."

Gleefully, the five-year-old shrieks away, leaving Hermione and Draco quite alone.

* * *

"Hi," she breathes, straightening to full height, still a head shorter than he. Her gaze settles on his neck, where his Adam's apple bobs up and down.

"Hello, Hermione."

At the sound of her name, her head whips up and the molten metal of his gaze captures her interest. He seemed less tortured, now. Softer, somehow. An awkward silence and the sound of a shoe scuffing on the stone walk fills the space between them. She turns her gaze away to keep an eye on the little boy she sent to play hide-and-seek among the trees.

"I've missed you," he whispers.

Her head tilts skyward, a rueful smile is sent to the clouds.

"It's been _months_, Malfoy."

"It's Draco," he corrects.

She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes averted to avoid his penetrating gaze.

"It's been months, Malfoy," she repeats tightly, refusing to shed a tear and still stubbornly refusing to say his name. "Not days. Not weeks. Months, Malfoy. I should have gone on that date with Theo."

"No."

"Why? Why shouldn't I have? All I get from you are cryptic drawings on parchment that say nothing about how you are, where you are, and who you are with."

He edges closer and she has to tilt her head farther back to look at him properly.

_W__hy is it only his nearness that makes her feel this alive again. _She wonders._ Why must it be like this with him?_

Why _him_?

"Harry and Ron have been helping me," he offers the explanation softly.

Hermione startles at the ease and the unmistakable note of respect Draco shows in using her best friends' names. Her quizzical look is lost on the blond, though, because he's speaking to his shoes, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"And those sketches..." he shifts uncomfortably, "my mind healer suggested them," he admits reluctantly. His gaze turns to somewhere above her head, his head cocked to ensure he still hears Teddy's faraway giggle.

"You're not telling me the truth," Hermione accuses, hurt. "Ron and Harry have been on holiday with Ginny and Lavender— too busy in their new couple quartet for the likes of me. How could you have been with them?"

"I _have_ been with them," he simply states. "They've been helping me sort through... _things_."

Hermione reaches into the pocket of her robes and pulls out a handful or crumpled parchment, stark images scribbled on them, and waves them in front of his nose. "You mean these _things_? What does it all mean, Malfoy? It's worse than trying to decipher ancient Runes!"

"What do you see in them?" comes his quiet, bleak reply.

"Darkness, coldness, fear, loneliness... horror," she shudders, thinking of the first owl she'd received from Draco after the auction, she'd received at least a dozen more. Her gaze lowers to the small sampling of frayed sheets in her hand. The images literally make her heart ache, reminding her of bound hands, faces in agonizing pain, despair, disaster, devastation— _Just the war?_ _Or current reality?_

"Memories," he whispers as if hearing her silent question. "I could not keep them. I could not look at them. I had to send them away. They are... They were things I could not speak of, or think about," his hand rakes down his face. "That magicked quill of yours... it is... something else. It dredges up visions I thought I'd already rid myself of."

"And so you send the pictures to haunt me? Without a word of explanation? They're horrific, Malfoy. Had I not recognized your owl, I'd have thought someone was playing a cruel joke, to torment me."

"No joke, Hermione," Draco scoffs ruefully, staring deeply into her brown, confused eyes. He forgets his lunch date with his mother, momentarily forgets about Teddy who's already halfway up a tree. His only reality is Hermione, whose watery gaze pleads for answers from him.

His hand reaches out to grab the papers out of her hand and shakes them at her startled expression.

"This is _me_. I sent these to you, to make you understand who _I_ am."

"I've known you for years! I already know who you are," she stifles an exasperated shout, aware of the little one in their midst. "I already understand!"

"No, you don't," he admonishes grabbing hold of her shoulders. "You don't know me. You only remember the arrogant 16-year-old I once was and am no longer. That's why I sent them to you. I need you to know what I've become. You need to know before you make a terrible mistake."

His words fall on deaf ears because the exhilaration of Draco touching her again rockets through her. Without thinking, she wilts against him, her arms automatically wrap around his waist, her fingers grasp at the back of his vest. She buries her face into his chest.

"I've already made a mistake! And I don't care a whit! I've been waiting for you! Just like you asked. I've been waiting for a very long time and... I don't know if I can wait anymore. It hurts too much to feel this way and not have you with me," she whispers. "Mistake or not, it doesn't matter now because... I." On a desperate gasp, she bites back the words before they slip out without permission. Her body stiffens in his embrace at the effort of reigning them in— frightened at what his response might be if he's guessed what she was going to say.

His heart squeezes. Her unspoken words, he realizies might reveal an unbelievably tempting promise that he works to mentally push aside.

"Don't you see, Hermione?" his voice chokes on a sob even as he pulls her closer, "I don't want you to love me."

The words lance through her, ripping a gasp from her throat. She tries to wrench away from his grasp, unaware of how deeply it would pain her to hear what she'd long suspected was true. But Draco refuses to release his hold on her.

"Let go," she cries, mortified beyond belief. She feels the tears beginning to trail down her cheek. Her hands are wide, pushing at his chest, "Please... Draco... let me go."

"I can't, Hermione," he says, as his head shakes as he pulls her closer still. She feels his fingers tangle into the hair close to her scalp, his other arm is wrapped around her waist. With his mouth against her temple, he whispers, "That's just it, Hermione, I can't... I can't let you go."

_What did he say?_

Incredulous, Hermione stops her fight. The man is utterly exhausting, she cries to herself. Tired and confused, she rests her forehead against his chin, furrowing her brow, dragging a palm to his chest to feel the rapid beating of his heart. She taps her hand atop it, frustrated, but hopeful. Draco sighs heavily, mussing the soft curls atop her head, his arms tightening around her. They stand in this silent embrace, neither willing to move.

"So, are you gonna kiss her, Uncle Draco?" a curious little voice inquires from above.

As one, the couple whips their gaze up to the small boy in the branches above their heads. Both are struck dumb at the sight of the shock of platinum blond hair on such a cherubic brown-eyed face. Apparently, Malfoy had answered Hermione's green hair charm, by turning Teddy's mane back to his own preferred color with a wordless and wandless spell.

"You should, you know," Teddy encourages, resting an elbow on a supporting branch, his cheek cradled in a palm. "Then, after you kiss, we can all go to lunch. I'm hungry, Uncle, and you said that we were going to have lunch with one of the most beautiful witches you know. You were talking about Hermione, right?"

Draco and Hermione turn to stare open-mouthed at one another. Seems they had their very own cupid in this precocious little boy.

Recovering, Draco gives Hermione an assessing stare before turning his gaze skyward, replying, "Yes, she is quite... quite beautiful, Teddy."

"So kiss her then!" the scamp shouts with a delighted laugh, "What are you waiting for? I'm hungry!"

"Go away, Teddy," Draco nearly growls. His eyes drinking in the lovely sight of Hermione who seems caught between tears and laughter.

"If I go away, can I turn my hair blue?" Draco's eyes narrow at the bargaining imp.

"Yes, and you had better put my own hair to rights, too, you sneaky little..."

"Draco," Hermione warns.

"That's a deal!" shouts Teddy, performing a bit of magic that Muggle hairstylists would die for before making himself scarce.

Draco shakes his head and his silvery blond locks returns. "Shame. I quite liked the blond on him," he whispers to himself, with a half smile on his lips.

"You like children," she states, staring at him wonderingly. Her question tugs his attention back to her. He nods. She says nothing.

"Do you listen to them, too?" she brazens. The question seems to confuse him. Amused, she witnesses the parade of emotions that cross his face when he at last realizes the meaning of her inquiry.

"Fancy a kiss, Hermione?" He flashes her a glimpse of the incorrigible heartbreaker he'd been at Hogwarts. It comes as no surprise to her that he so easily falls back on the comfort of their provocative banter. And she truly has no problem with his renewed focus on the physical. As she'd said earlier, it had been _months_ without him.

"Hardly, Malfoy," she replies snootily, even as her body melts further into his and her traitorous lips tilt toward his own.

"Draco," he prompts huskily. Her eyes fly to his, now a darker, deeper grey. She wonders just how deep those dark depths are now. The untouchable part of him had seemed fathomless five years ago. On impulse she decides to seize this unique opportunity of learning just how close she might be able to get to the enigma of him.

"Tell me again how you can't let me go, Dra—"

Unfortunately, Hermione's stomach chooses this inopportune moment to grumble loud and long.

"See? You've taken too long, Uncle Draco," shouts Teddy somewhere to the left. "Hermione is hungry as well!"

Much to her chagrin, the moment of seduction is shattered. Draco, chuckling at Teddy's observation, pulls away, albeit reluctantly.

"So it would seem, Teddy," he calls out. Then, he turns to address Hermione,"We're lunching with my mother. Would you like to join us?"

"Actually, your mother sent me in her place," she hastily explains. "I'll go with you, if you'll have me."

For a long, meaningful moment he simply stares at her.

She blinks.

And just like that, Teddy is at their side.

"Let's go!" the little blue-haired boy shouts, grabbing at both their hands and pulling hard. "I want a sandwich!"

* * *

They'd gone to a Daigon Alley cafe, ending a delightful afternoon together at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. As the meal and dessert progressed, Hermione noticed how Draco spoiled Teddy, even taking the time to scourgify his little face of chocolate ice cream streaks. At one point, Draco had cajoled the small tyke into turning his hair back to Draco's own light color. It was after this that Hermione had been sitting alone with a towheaded Teddy while Draco had gone to retrieve their sundaes. Two middle-aged witches stopped by her table, their lack of recognition of her and Draco had Hermione surmising they must be visiting.

"What a lovely little family you have, my dear," the taller one had commented. "We were just admiring how well mannered your young son is and..."

"We also envied the way your husband quite obviously adores you and your boy," the other had chimed in. "It pleases us both so very much to see such happiness. You see, we lost our own husbands in the war. Rachel and I were working abroad five years ago and they told us to stay put, forbade us to return. We'd been apart from our sweethearts for half a year— ... In any case, we've only just returned to London. You are very lucky, my dear. Very lucky, indeed."

Hermione smiled politely and Teddy had grabbed her hand when he saw Hermione's face fall as the women strolled away.

"Want to know a secret, Hermione?" he'd whispered in an effort to cheer her. She had nodded, wondering if he'd earlier pilfered a trinket from the Weasley twins' shop. "Uncle Draco loves you."

"And how would you know this, Teddy," Hermione serenely inquired, though her heart had just leapt to her throat.

"Oh, I get to go to his flat for the afternoon three days a week, you see, and sometimes he's quite cranky."

She lifts an amused eyebrow, but remains silent listening to Teddy's story. "On those days, Uncle Draco says, 'Ted, old chap, I am going to rest my eyes, but my ears are quite open, you sprite, so don't do something stupid like light the place on fire.'"

Hermione smiled at the image the boy's mimicked words paint.

"Then," Teddy continued, unaware of Hermione's bemusement, "he lays down on the sofa, closes his eyes and I play while he snores, like this." Teddy lets out an enormously loud sound that sets Hermione to quick laughter and Teddy giggles with her but adds to his story. "Other times, he doesn't and those are the days when he says it when he's asleep. He says, 'I love you, Hermione.' And then, he usually wakes up and then, he's not so cranky anymore."

"Is that so?" Hermione had breathed. "Have you told him about this, Teddy?" The boy shook his head, no. "Well, it'll be our little secret then. I promise not to tell." She had smiled and an alarming thought occurred to her all at once, one she could not keep from exclaiming at. "I can't believe Draco falls asleep when he's supposed to be watching you!" Teddy's eyes had rounded, fearing he'd gotten his beloved uncle into trouble.

"I'm a big boy, Hermione, didn't you know?" He had asked, recovering swiftly as any quick-witted relative of Malfoy might. "It's quite alright. I keep watch over him. Sometimes Uncle Draco needs that. That's what Grandmama Andromeda says. Uncle Draco just needs someone to love him. I love him. Don't you love him, too, Hermione?"

Draco had returned to the table in time to watch Hermione gently caress his nephew's cheek. An odd expression on her face. The sight of the blond little boy and Hermione had his heart skipping a beat.

They returned to the law offices shortly after ice cream. Having spied the secretly pleased expression on her son's usually sombre face, Mrs. Malfoy promptly shooed Hermione out. Narcissa reminded the young witch that it was her day off and that she most certainly wasn't needed until the following morning. Then, with very little ceremony, Mrs. Malfoy all but tossed them out the door with a command that the three of them leave her sight immediately. With no plans, Draco and Teddy invited Hermione to spend the rest of the day with them and the two adults had gone on to satisfy the whims of the child for the afternoon.

Hermione and Draco decided that dinner was in order after a several hours of kite-flying and being dragged around town by the likes of Teddy. To cap off the day, Draco had chosen a secluded restaurant where he and Hermione could share a meal.

To Hermione, it was clear Draco was a regular. He knew the very attractive hostess — Amber — by name. She called him _Mr. Malfoy_, but there was a more knowledgeable twinkle in her eye that rankled Hermione's nerves. Amber sat them in a private section of the restaurant, calling it _his_ table. Hermione was ready to hex the hostess for the way she lingered over him, all but ignoring her. And as she sat listening to him and Amber exchange niceties, Hermione further tortured herself with the thought of Draco having brought _other_ witches to such a romantic dining establishment. When she'd at last gotten over the disturbing idea of that, Hermione noticed how easily the hostess was able to draw smiles from Draco. With this annoyance in mind, she had cleared her throat and rather rudely asked for her menu. Draco shot her a questioning look and she mouthed, "I'm hungry," before burying her face in the tri-fold.

It was only after the hostess left and she was alone with Draco that Hermione found she quite enjoyed the ambiance.

"Someone should bottle all that energy and sell it," Draco pronounces tiredly, sitting back in his chair and wiping his brow with his hand.

"I think George is working on it," Hermione comments dryly, bringing the wine glass to her lips. "You could have one of your own, you know," she adds after a moment.

"What? A bottle of energy?" he asks before bringing his water glass to his mouth.

"No," she replies. "A son, a child." Despite his startled expression she presses on, "It didn't escape me how often you changed Teddy's hair color to match your own today. You looked quite pleased with yourself each time you managed it. And in all honesty, Malfoy, it seems, despite yourself, you'd make a quite brilliant father."

"It's a game Teddy and I play," he grumbled defensively, perhaps even a little angrily. "He likes it." Draco turns his face away from her, focusing an inordinate amount of energy on picking up his cloth napkin and arranging it on his lap. When he's done with smoothing it down, Draco turns to regard her again, adding, "And, Hermione, my name is Draco."

Hermione nods and swirls the red colored wine in her glass before speaking.

"Well, then, _Draco_, if you'd allow me to speak frankly."

"When do you ever _not_ speak frankly?" he grouses, taking his own wineglass in hand.

She ignores him saying, "It seems more a game _you_ play with Teddy because _you_ like it." She offers this observation, while watching him over the rim of her glass. "It's ideal, isn't it? A child of your own for three afternoons a week, no nagging wife to tell you what to do... no real committment other than a single attachment to a little boy... A _fatherly_ attachment," she adds when she notices a strange, disturbed look come over his face, one she wonders distantly about. "And it all comes with a strong sturdy safety net— thanks to your aunt who'll always come fetch Teddy at the end of the day. Very controlled. Very limited. Very... _you_, actually."

"You sound like my mind healer, Granger," he grouses, swigging a fine wine one is supposed to savor. "According to him I should get a pet."

"Sounds like you're angry," she counters. "Did I hit a sore spot, Draco? Maybe you _should_ get a pet. It would be good for you."

His eyebrow rises. In viewing the familiar affectation, Hermione knows to expect his comeback will hide his true feelings. Despite this knowledge, his words still affect her in ways she's unable to ignore.

"Perhaps, Hermione, there are other things I'd like petted in order to soothe my sore spot." He smirks as she feels color creep up her neck all due to his sexy insinuations. "I am sure the sort of _pet_ I wish for would be more... beneficial and... ah... personally satisfying," he continues, raking a sultry gaze over her sitting across from him. He thinks to himself again that she looks rather fetching in her airy pastel sundress.

He smiles widely at her blushing, and then pointedly turns his attention toward his plate. A familiar irritation boils in her. Well, two can play this game and damned if he was going to have the last word. Again.

Determinedly, Hermione slips one foot out of her ballet flats and scoots to the edge of her seat, all the while pretending complete fascination with her delectable plate of Frenched lamb chops with sherry wine sauce. She moves her foot past the middle leg of the table until her toe touches patent leather. The crisp fabric of his dark Muggle denims brush the top of her foot. Giving herself little time to reconsider, she smiles secretly as she nudges her toe under his pant leg, all the while casually twirling her fork in the sauce on her plate. Purposefully, she slides her arch against the strong muscle of his calf, his hair there tickles as her arch passes. She is intensely gratified when her touch causes him to jump a little.

With head bent, her hair swings past her shoulders hiding from him her own smug expression at the sound of him expelling a surprised, choked cough. She lazily turns her gaze to him just in time to catch him slowly wiping his napkin against his lips, a quiet oath having just left his mouth. There is a swath of color along the ridge of his cheekbones.

"Problem, Draco?" she asks sweetly. He loudly clears his throat.

"Not at all," he manages, just short of a squeak. He stares intently at her as he feels the warmth of her foot inch upward, stroking against his leg.

_Lovely torture, this._

"I'm glad," she says casually, cutting into her meal as though nothing were happening beneath the cloth covered table. "So, you were saying..." she continues innocently, her foot traveling to rest against his inner thigh. She shoots him a siren's smile before beginning to rub the ball of her foot near the part of him that aches for her. "... about petting sore spots?"

She warms at the sound of his stifled groan. Draco places a staying hand on her ankle before her toes can come into contact with a certain spot that is now most certainly sore for want of her. She lifts an eyebrow when his thumb presses into her sole. She bites her lower lip to keep back a pleased moan.

"So, you've reverted," she purposely baits, perturbed by his interference. "Are you just all talk again, Draco?"

Her taunt causes a long forgotten, dangerous response to flash in his silver gaze.

"And you, back to being the tease?" He rejoins after she snatches her foot from his massaging fingers.

"I told you earlier, Draco," she says through gritted teeth. "I've been waiting for you for _months_. And regardless how attractive the wizard, no witch likes being kept on the back burner for as long as you've left me to stew. A witch has needs, too! But considering what an unattractive git your are at this very moment..."

"So you still want—"

"What do you want me to say, Draco?" she interrupts. "That you've scared me off with your cryptic dark images? That I can't be with you now that I have only a small inkling of how twisted your psyche truly is? Have you forgotten that I survived the war, too? I know darkness, Draco. I've already faced some of my greatest fears. I have managed, _alone_ and I've survived. You will not make a mockery of all that I've accomplished for myself without the likes of you, or any man, for that matter. I DO NOT NEED YOU!"

He flinches.

"But that does not mean I do not _want_ you."

Her brown eyes flash angrily as she watches his knuckles turn white as he grips his steak knife. With her gaze directed to the muscles working in the back of his hand, she continues, "It will take a lot more than a few pieces of parchment covered with dark scribbles to convince me that my gut feelings about you are false. I've known how I feel about you for a long time, Malfoy. Like it or not, the emotions I harbor for you and the connection between us... they are both still very much alive."

She leans back in her chair, suddenly tired of the game play. She takes in a breath and braves the next line.

"So, Draco, the true question is not whether I still feel anything for you. The question is, how do you feel about me?"

His utensils clatter to his plate. He stares at her for a long time, then like a cobra, he strikes, startling her when he unexpectedly grabs onto her upper arm.

"Even out of school, your Gryffindor traits fail you, you're far too trusting of this Slytherin," his eyes are sparking, his teeth are bared. He looks angry that he's being made to speak. "But Merlin, help me, Hermione, I want you, too."

She's unable to keep a self-satisfied smile from snaking onto her lips.

"Then, Draco, what in Merlin's name are you waiting for?"

No sooner does he say, "put it on my tab," than does the pop of their side-along disapparation cause the hostess, who'd just reached their table with dessert menus, to jump a full step backwards.

A minute later, the resulting bang has Hermione and Draco apparating back to a familiar place, the sight of which pleases her... _and him_... to no end.


	11. To Fancy a Ferret

Hogwarts_. _

Oh, how she adored this place, especially now that the construction wizards had proven the skeptics wrong. The castle was just as it had been, perhaps with a bit more polish.

_But where in the castle had they landed? _

"Drac—,"

"You took me by surprise today, Hermione," he interrupts gruffly, tearing himself from her side with an irritated huff. She realizes that instead of stirring passion, she'd accidentally baited him into releasing some pent up frustration. "You do realize, Granger, that this isn't the right time for us?"

She stares at him, not quite sure how to answer.

Looking at his own hand resting on the stone wall, he speaks, "As much as my situation has improved, it is not yet ideal. I have not battled all of my demons. I still..." He stops himself and shakes his head. He turns to her and continues, "To be plain, Hermione, I do not believe I can give you what you want."

She makes a small sound of confused frustration and he speaks before she can raise any questions.

"It is just that you took me by surprise today. You were there in the garden with Teddy—"

"...and you invited me to join you, Draco," Hermione finishes with some impatience. "So, why are we here now if you can't be...?"

"The first night, remember, Hermione?" he responds evasively, turning from her again, opening his arms wide and moving them in an arc as he swings 'round on his heel. Hermione examines her surroundings more closely.

_Could this be the very same place she'd faced down Draco on her own, so very long ago?_

"You despised me then," he continues without gauging her response. He moves farther away from her to walk the perimeter, rediscovering the old alcove. "I can honestly say I felt the very same for you. On that night, there was no part of me that wished to console you and wipe away your dirty tears. In truth, I intended to make you feel far worse. Yet—"

"...you were _intrigued_ by me," she finishes for him, touching the memory of first becoming sexually aware of the Slytherin Prince and discovering the heady power she wielded over him. "Frankly, Malfoy, I felt the same about you. It was a sickening feeling, really. I wanted to touch you. Sick , dark, twisted—"

"But arousing for you?" Draco questions in a sneering tone. "Addictive, perhaps?"

"I'd never touched a boy the way I touched you, then," she admits with some reluctance. Then, in an effort to lighten the mood, adds more playfully, "You incite such wickedness, Malfoy."

"You have an unhealthy desire for things that are bad for you, Granger," he replies derisively. "That's why it never worked out with Ron or anyone else," he observes, shaking his head. "What would you have done if I had taken you up on your naive offer that night? I could have ruined you!"

"But you didn't, Draco," Hermione reminds him. "You were immobile against that wall, and not because of some magical spell, either. _I _was the one who did the sensible thing. _I _walked away from the vile temptation of you that night," she retorts tartly, running her palm against the roughly hewn stone wall. "That was a long time ago, Draco. We were sixteen then. Why the trip down memory lane? You told me that you're not the same person you used to be and I can see that for myself. After all, I'm not the same girl I was back then, either."

"Why do you fail to understand? I am not different _enough _to be good for _you_," he growls irritatedly. "I was an evil little bugger when I prowled these halls. You should not have had anything to do with me our Sixth Year." He glares at her, his lips form a familiar arrogant scowl that raises her hackles. "And you are wrong to feel anything for me now. It appears, Granger," he adds more menacingly, "that you need some proper schooling on this fact. That is why we are here, you see. It is obvious you must learn the unfortunate lesson that _some_ things never change."

"_Some_ things?... You mean, things like how despite your thorough enjoyment of my touch, you pull away every time you might lose control?" she inquires, purposely needling him to cause him some pain in return for inflicting such stinging sentiments on her. "Or how about every time we actually start discussing how we truly feel about one another, you resort to kissing me until I can't think straight?"

She spies his unmistakable masculine pride clash with his fury at her retort. The muscles in his jaw work. He is obviously annoyed by her far too insightful observations. His hands clench and unclench as he strides the half-length of the small hall.

"We are here to play out that night again!" He announces this with such force that it causes her to flinch. He approaches her, stalking. A frisson of fear skitters up her spine. "Go on, Granger! Begin!"

"You can't make me do anything," she protests weakly, taking an instinctive step back from his roar. "Besides, we're out in the open. People will see."

"The school is on holiday and that means Filch is in his cups out past Hagrid's hut, carousing with his poor excuse of a cat. Stop stalling." A malevolent little smile plays on his lips. "We are here to remind you that _you_ need to walk away from this... _from me_. You need to remember the reasons why you were the first to walk away and you need to realize how important it is that you do the walking away again. Merlin knows, I am selfish enough to keep you from leaving me. I'll destroy you if you stay."

Belatedly, she realizes she shouldn't have pushed him at dinner. Maybe this is what Harry was talking about. "Be careful with Malfoy," Harry had warned, "because he's not quite over his post-war issues." Well, it sure as hell would have been nice to know whether or not Draco had violent tendencies, she sends these bitter thoughts at her best friend, suddenly worried for her safety. When she fails to respond, Draco grows angry.

"Play it out _again_, Mudblood!" he snaps. Her head whips up. She is further shocked silent by his use of the hateful epithet, hurt tears threaten to flow.

"I don't like this game, Draco," she announces stiffly, her fingers inch toward her wand at his unrelenting approach. She blinks furiously, refusing to show him any signs of weakness.

"We'll see if you still feel the same about me after we're done. You believe you care about me? You think I'm worth... _redemption_?" Draco laughs out the last word. It is a maniacal and hollow sound that causes Hermione's stomach to plummet to her feet. "I believe you're simply infatuated with the _idea_ of me," he continues, "I'm poison for you, Mudblood! To think otherwise is stupidity at its extreme," he bellows. "Find your blasted courage, you bloody Gryffindor, and PLAY IT OUT!"

Though Hermione is quite fully aware that Draco is testing her, the sound of his last furious shout echoes down the empty corridor, making her cringe. His voice, rough and taunting, acts a time-turner, transporting her through time, sending her back to the years she fell victim to his Sixth Year bullying. Draco moves ever closer to her. The look on his face softens as he nears, but instead of the apologies and reassuring arms she half-expects him to offer, he purposely crowds her, invading her space.

_Menacing_.

Hermione's heart leaps to her throat and she lets out a small sound of dismay when he shoves her against the wall. She watches as he examines the evidence of her silent tears.

"What's all this incessant wailing about, Granger?"

Eyes still wet, she scowls at him, taking great exception to his exaggeration about her show of emotion. She is further annoyed that he seems to remember the script from that night long ago. He chuckles lightly at her perturbed expression, but the sound lacks mirth. "Regardless, Granger, I've come to ensure that I'm the cause of it," he shrugs. The sneer in his voice is real enough to set off another stream of infuriated tears and the one sob that accompanies the torrent. "Are you going to flee in despair, now, Mudblood? By all means, do what is best for you and leave. GO!" he barks.

His taunting command rings in her ears and she _is_ mightily tempted to do as he says, but she glimpses a fleeting yearning look in his hardened expression. She'd run once._ But not this time. _She digs in her heels and witnesses, again, the momentary softening of his grey gaze. In this split-second he appears to be begging her to stay. It is this look, one Hermione hopes she hadn't imagined, that keeps her feet at a standstill. She takes in a huge gulping breath and decides to fight back, just as she did that one night. After all, he had some nerve pushing her like this!

_How dare he taunt her!_

Recalling how her fury had fueled her boundless courage, she reaches back into her memories to summon some glorious anger. She knows she needs its strength to fight against the growing hurt Draco is causing to blossom in her chest with his carefully chosen words.

_Why is he doing this?_ she wonders, knocking the back of her head against the stone wall as she gazes up at the ceiling.

Well, whatever the answer to her question, the fact remains that Draco means to continue. Because of this, Hermione refuses to back down. Again, she works to gather the rage that started her dance with this particular devil. Unfortunately, she is unable to call up old anger toward Ron. Instead, she focuses on how she feels about Malfoy's many misdeeds. She remembers the agony of wrenching herself away from him five years ago and the echoing pain of leaving him at St. Mungo's after the one searing one she thought might change the course of her life. Of course, she remembers the more recent, long and lonely months after the auction when she'd eagerly awaited his owl. All of this, she realizes, amounted to years of her life she can never reclaim. Years of pining over one infernal man, constant in only one thing: his ultimate belief that their pairing would be a road to hell.

But hell is what she'd already lived through without him and for Hermione, tonight is her _do-over,_ her chance to right some wrongs, to at last discover joy, no matter how hard won it might be. Yet, the man who once claimed she was his alone, is again repudiating her, standing there in all his Pureblooded arrogance, proclaiming he knows what is best for her, that, in fact, she is _stupid_ for having the audacity to care for him and his stubborn arse.

Oh yes, all of this is enough to set off some fine sparks flying from the ends of her hair. No one _ever_ told Hermione Granger she was stupid!

"Stop calling me that vile name, Draco. I am not some dog you can order about, nor am I one of those many unfortunate witches you cat about with!" she shouts indignantly.

There is a spark of something in the depths of his gaze, something that she recognizes as defiance. The sight of it baits Hermione into entering the duel.

"And to be sure, Draco, of late, _you_ are _always_ the cause of my crying," she adds hotly, mentally pulling herself up and angrily swiping away the wet from her face and poking a finger toward him. "Frankly, there's nothing more you can do to make my entire life any worse!" _except leave me for good and tell me once and for all that you don't love me like I love you_, she adds silently.

She begins her offense now, firming her grip on her wand, drawing it out for attack. His gaze doesn't hold terror today, though. In its place appears a smug satisfaction at having riled her. He takes a step back, his look of mock fear further incites her. She throws her arm forward and her wandtip nearly jabs his Adam's apple.

"Stop provoking me!" her voice rings a strong warning.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort, Granger," he chides, still retreating. His flinty stare catches the light of the corridor's flickering torch.

_When had those been set aflame? _

His scornful expression gives rise to her anger.

"What do you _want_ from me, Draco?"

"Nothing," his icy curtness slices her. "I don't want _anything_ from you." _But I know I cannot live without you,_ he thinks guiltily.

"You're a liar," she snaps, blinking back another threatening tear. His expression falters and as she watches him trip backwards away from her stalking approach, her confidence soars. Hermione doesn't stop until her body is flush against his, does not stop pushing until his back presses flat against the cold stone wall.

"You happen to need _something_ from _this_ Mudblood, Malfoy," she insists. As a familiar, aroused expression crosses Draco's features, her voice turns husky, filled with a dangerous seduction. She is pleased to watch him flush as she draws impossibly nearer. His gaze turns smoky and he lets out an involuntary moan as he watches her tongue flick out her mouth— a mouth that is on the move.

"You've needed something from me for a long time, I think, Draco" she breathes, knowing full well what his name on her lips does to him. He rewards her with a throaty sound. She glides her open mouth against the rapid pulse at his neck. Her fingers thread into the hair at his nape, while the length of her wand lies beneath the strength of his jaw. "You've needed what I have to offer. If you didn't, you wouldn't keep coming back," she adds, nipping at the spot she'd once marked. She feels him greedily suck in a staying breath. He gulps deeply when he feels her touch. His hands, however, remain glued to his sides.

Her other hand rakes a rough path from the side of his throat, down to rest a moment atop his erratically beating heart. Then, with as much bawdy intent as the first time, she proceeds to glide her greedy fingers farther south. She's pleased to feel his muscles straining toward the heat of her palm, but she is ultimately robbed of her intended goal when his fingers catch her wrist in a vice-like grip before she can capture the hardened prize she feels against her abdomen.

"Stop!" he rasps, his expression quite clearly pained. "You never should have touched me that night. It is _your_ fault that I feel...I feel..." He seems unable to go on and he sighs tiredly. "Just stop, Hermione."

"No," she glowers, nipping at his neck and wrenching out of his hold to clutch onto _his_ wrist. She pulls his hand up between them, placing his palm against her heart. He seems shocked to be touching her and she moves her hand to his bicep. "You started this, Draco, so let's finish it. Your turn now to correct history, unless you're still that coward of a Hogwarts boy I left in this corridor once upon a time. And for the record, you failed at teaching me your ill-conceived lesson. I'm not leaving."

Draco's expression contorts with something akin to insulted anger, but before he can fully form his trademark sneer, they leave the corridor with a pop.

* * *

A resulting bang echoes in the darkened depths of the Hogwarts library.

She waits for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, well pleased by the wordless side-along disapparation spell she'd just accomplished.

_Exactly where she wants him... to show him he'd made a mistake when he left her._

The pitch black is cut only by the colored shards of moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows high above the stacked shelves. She hears Draco's strained, but amused, chuckle when he at last recognizes their surroundings.

"Naughty, Granger. But, this place is one of your kinks, isn't it? Very well," he says roughly, still stinging from her last accusation. "But before we begin, let's sum up. You left me in that corridor, terribly aroused and had piqued my curiosity to distraction, so much so, that I failed nearly every class we shared that term. But I'd discarded the thought of revenge until you landed in my arms that night in the library. You _let_ me touch you. You were _wrong_ for allowing that."

He describes this as he none too gently removes his arm from her grasp. Suddenly, she feels her hands fly up above her head, a wordless spell has her wrists held together, the edge of the shelf bites into her skin. She scowls. She hadn't expected this move to happen so quickly.

His voice draws away as he talks, but he doesn't stray far. She can feel his wand tip lightly tracing the outline of her neck, shoulder... breast... nipple. "That night we found ourselves here, in your most favored part of the castle, I was of the belief that you deserved a little payback, Bookworm. Do you recall?"

"All too well," she shouts, fighting against her invisible restraints. "Release me, Draco!"

"You looked just like this, clawing and spitting to be let out of the invisible chains I'd placed on you," he whispers darkly, leaving her side. With uncommon masculine grace, he moves to lean against the edge of a nearby table, taking in the full view of her. "You brought me here, Granger. A mistake. Do you not recall how I held the cards on this night?"

He smiles, thoroughly pleased with his quick wand word. He tilts his head and realizes a few details are missing. With a flick of his wrist the small buttons that hold the top of her sundress together come undone. The revelation of delicate lace does little to conceal her own puckered arousal. Heat surges through him, his gaze grows darker still. Another flick of his wand and a carefully directed Wingardium Leviosa has her skirt lifting, swaying to and fro, as though caught in a playful breeze. The light movement, gives him teasing glimpses of her matching knickers beneath. He moves his wand again, to correct her hair, pulling it out of its up-do, allowing it all to cascade down her shoulders.

A few months ago, she might have loudly protested his proprietary behavior. Tonight, however, her chin is held high, proudly displaying herself before him. The stance is no longer that of the needy virgin he'd left yearning after him so many years ago. In all honestly, Draco doesn't quite know what do with the emotions that has his chest squeezing at the sight of her in all her enraged, confident, self-righteous glory.

"Are you quite done?" she inquires, watching him carefully. At his silence, she clears her throat loudly and clarifies, "Have you looked your fill, Malfoy?"

She wrinkles her brow, worried at how lost he seems. Despite his play at dominance, Hermione knows better. Her heart reaches out to him. Something about the way he looks at her makes her remember an important detail of that other night in the library.

"You're not remembering the truth of it, Draco," she whispers, careful not to disturb him with a rougher protestation. "I was the one with the power that night, wasn't I?" The gentler tone makes him wary and she watches his frown form as he discovers she's no longer upset with her immobility. She appears far too comfortable for his liking and he narrows his gaze at her while she continues. "You eventually undid the Incarcerous without me realizing. My wrists were set free before you left... You were testing me, weren't you? You wanted something else from me that night?" she asks this with a voice that is suddenly soft, despite her inner annoyance at still being tethered. She stares directly at him, arcing against her restraints. His body throbs at the sight of her and the knowledge that the words she speaks graze too closely to the truth."You wanted more than my body, I think, Draco. Otherwise, you would have stayed and taken advantage of me without a second thought."

With eyes at last adjusted to the darkness, Hermione sees Malfoy startle. The racist retort she expects never comes. His stillness is unnerving. Regardless, she decides to press on. "You see, that night, after you left, while I was making myself presentable, and despite swinging between mortification and rage," Hermione continued carefully, "I realized you'd freed my hands for a reason and... perhaps you'd left because I'd failed your unspoken test."

He snorts at her, hiding his astonishment at how she'd somehow so clearly realized what he had refused to see that night and for years after. Concerned, Hermione, still trapped, watches him jerk out of his semi-reclining stance to give himself some space. He sighs heavily when he places his hands against the shelves at the far end of the room. His back is to her, yet, she notices his hand unconsciously trail to his other side, moving to rub at his forearm, the one she knows holds the faded mark of his dark past.

"Come, let's try this again, Draco," she beckons, tempting him to close the distance between them. His head moves only slightly at the sound of her voice, just enough to spy her in his peripheral vision. He waves his wand and has her lifting farther up. When she lets out a startled gasp, his smile turns predatory. With her toes just touching the ground, her dress rides up, presenting him with a living image of a memory that he has never quite forgotten. Much like on that other fateful night, Draco approaches her on legs that seem to move of their own accord. His hands roughly tangle in her mess of hair, tilting her head back so her graceful throat is his. She locks gazes with him through lowered lashes, watching him examine her. To his eyes, she seems annoyingly unbothered by her shackled state.

"Let me do it right this time," she dares to gently offer. His expression remains rigid, fierce, the hand in her hair tightens. "Draco, let me show you how much I lo—"

Quickly, he lowers his lips to hers, claiming her mouth in a desperate effort to shut her up. His kiss plunders, seeking something he dares not examine, yet he can feel it consuming him. It is a fiery need that seems unable to be contained or vanquished. He is angry that his fascination for the witch in his arms refuses to flicker out, no matter how many times he touches her.

At last, he rips his mouth away from hers and his stare hardens at the flush of color he's put on her cheeks. He gentles infinitesimally when he realizes her frustrated confusion in her open-mouthed stare.

He is confused, too. Frustrated. Aroused. Enraged. Too many emotions fill him and he wants to hit something because he most certainly refuses to cry. To calm himself, Draco uses a fingertip to trace the outline of her lips. He dips his touch, resting against the skittering pulse in the hollow of her throat. He allows his hand to travel into the valley between her most delicious curves. His head bows and through lace, he captures a tender peak in the moist heat of his mouth. His fingers continue to caress, brushing against the hem of her short summer dress. His palm meets the fleshy part of her thigh. She squirms toward his touch, but his hand lightly smacks her bottom, staying her.

"Stop moving, witch," he grumbles, lifting his mouth away from her heated skin to speak the words. She gasps when his teeth graze her again. She longs to be allowed to dive her fingers into his hair, to pull him closer. She feels his questing hand beneath her skirt and mentally commands herself not to respond too wantonly to his movements, for fear he might stop altogether. His fingers brush against the matching lace at the juncture of her thighs. She bites her bottom lip, biting back a needy moan, praying he'll continue.

She feels his his fingers delve beneath the moist material there to discover the essence of her. His fingertip caresses her most sensitive folds. She releases a sigh, but claps her lips together when his fingers stop their discovery of her.

"So ready, Granger," he murmurs, a note of disapproval in his voice. Her eyelids threaten to fall at the rapturous friction he creates. When he notices her languor, he moves swiftly to take her chin firmly in his free hand. The crescent moons of his fingernails dig into her cheeks. His eyes, a thunderous grey, bore into hers. His teeth are bared. She sees two emotions clashing in his unblinking stare.

Roughly he shoves two fingers into her, causing her to gasp and clasp her legs together.

"This is what you want, isn't it, Mudblood?" he demands, working his fingers in and out of her in an harsh imitation of a primal and far more intimate act. Without thinking, and despite being on tiptoe, she widens her stance, brazenly allowing him more access. Though she will never admit it, Hermione had earlier decided to take pleasure where she might, in whatever little contact Draco would allow himself with her. And because of this, despite his rough handling of her, Hermione yearns to cry out in pleasure. His fury is at least an expression of his true emotion, she reasons, one that isn't hidden under carefully cultivated, aggravating dispassion. All the same, though, she refuses to give him the satisfaction of hearing her pleasure at his carnal ministrations.

"Tied up, you can't fight, right? Tied up, you have to submit to whatever I wish to take from you. Tied up, you can tell your friends you had no choice but to do my evil bidding, to allow me these liberties. Let me make myself clear, Granger, it is wrong for you to want me! And even worse that I feel the same." His voice is steely against her temple, the movements of his hand below punctuate the frustration she senses in his words. "You want me to give you an excuse for this unseemly desire for me. Isn't this why you brought us here, Hermione? " He snarls this accusation while his knowledgeable hand works her into a sensual frenzy "Admit it, Granger! Tell me that you know I'm wrong for you. Tell me that once you've slaked your unholy desire for the forbidden I represent, you will walk away! Tell me that all you want from me and all I have to offer you is just a finger flick away."

His eyes turn a dark slate, watching her fight to take the pleasure he holds just out of her reach. He purposely keeps her poised at the edge, on the cusp of rapturous flight. Draco knows what he is doing is wrong, but in this state of heightened sexual frustration, he knows that Hermione is robbed of her senses and cannot do as he demands. Though he needs her to be the first to pull away, he knows it will shatter him if she actually does.

"You belong with a wizard who can fill you in more ways than this," he says gruffly, thrusting his fingers into her one more time, pulling a frustrated moan from the most beguiling witch he's ever known. To drive his point home, he snatches his hands away, only to grab onto her waist pulling her hips against his in a lewd mimic of an act they both know she would instantly agree too, regardless of the violence he employs. Hermione looks at him dazedly. Her expression calls him back to her and he snarls, incredibly furious at the both of them. "You need someone who would _never_ resort to this."

With desire for fulfillment clawing at her, Hermione uses her legs, to grab hold of the wizard before he can pull away. They both gasp remembering a moment like this long ago. She arcs against him, keeping him close as she opens her mouth to lambaste him.

"How dare you do this to me!" she accused. "You didn't apologize to me in the library that night, Malfoy. You didn't offer up any poor replacements for the wizard you were. You knew who you were then," she admonishes. He is distracted by the sight, smell and feel of her, clearly wanting him, hot in her anger. "You quite nearly ravished me where I stood. And now? What? You are who you are now, Draco! I can accept that. Why can't you? Stop your damn whining! End the indecision for both of us! Or for Merlin's sake, just bring back that _other_ Slytherin," she demands furiously, tears now flowing freely. "Give me back the Draco you used to be. _He's_ the one I want! At least, _he_ knew what he wanted. He had other reasons for leaving me alone than your pathetic, secret brooding ones. At least I could respect _that_!"

Draco's grip on her waist hurt... _almost_. She feels the trembling aggravation her words bring him in every one of his straining muscle that still touches her.

"He's gone, Granger," he snarls, feeling pushed into an emotional corner without escape. "And come to think of it, I don't want you anymore."

He can feel her instinctively flinch away, but contrary to his pronouncement, his hands clasp together behind her back, refusing again to release her. This contradictory behavior gives rise to Hermione's own irritated fury.

"Denial does not make your feelings for me disappear!" she shouts, forgetting herself and where she is. "Thanks to you, I've had to learn this the hard way. Damn you to bloody hell!" Her body is shaking from emotion and exhaustion. "The old Malfoy couldn't quite disregard his desires for me then, and tonight, you can't seem to either!" She calls his attention to this fact by creating some friction where she quite clearly feels his raging desire. "Now it's your turn to stop stalling! You were the one who started this little game of _Remember When_. Continue, Draco! Or don't you remember how it goes? Decide if you're going to change history. Let's play this out!"

He closes his eyes, bends his head, and groans. Draco remembers all too clearly how close he'd been to taking her in the dark confines of the library back when they were sixteen and innocent to the horrors of war. If it hadn't been that night, he bemoans, if only it had been before he'd been Marked, maybe then—

"Kiss me, Malfoy," she entreats more gently. "Let's finish this properly."

At her soft request, Draco can no longer restrain himself. He walks her back vertical and gathers her up close, but instead of capturing her mouth, he drops his head to her shoulder, touching his cool lips to her heated neck. He murmurs something she cannot understand, but the touch of his mouth against her skin has her swiftly drawing in breath. With her pleased little sound, he forcefully pulls her into his embrace, curious to witness her response. Immediately, her hands drop to his shoulders, snaking around to clasp the back of his neck. She wraps herself around his lithe frame, smiling in triumph, pleased with herself for guessing the exact moment he'd lifted the spell. He makes a small noise that seems to emanate from deep within. It sounds suspiciously like a sob. Her arms tighten around him in loving comfort as gravity pulls her into him. Against the side of her neck, Hermione feels the wet warmth of a tear he will later surely deny. She pulls him close.

"I want you, Hermione. I _need_ you."

His voice is hoarse, honest, needy, bewildered. Hearing him this way makes her heart constrict and she feels his hand move to grip her arm. Plastered all over him, Hermione knows what might happen now. She knows she must to put a stop to it before they follow a destructive pattern they might never be able to end.

He moves to place his mouth against hers and when their breaths mingle, she feels it, this elusive thing she desires most from him. She struggles for sanity despite the thought-clearing desire his touch invokes. Before she allows herself to lose her mind to the undertow of his rising emotions, she moves her lips against his to speak.

"I know you do, Draco, but this time, _want_ and _need_ simply aren't enough."

She says this as her brown eyes capture his silver. He'd just finished delivering the spell, one she expected since his grip on her arm tightened. Draco's gaze clouds with confusion before she claims his lips again. Then, she feels a familiar tug at her navel.


	12. To Gratify a Gryffindor

_**WARNING: **__This truly is an M chapter (not in the sexy sort of way)._

_There are some really dark insinuations about war crimes and physical abuse in this chapter.  
I apologize in advance for its disturbing nature and point the finger of blame at my evil plot bunny.  
Since so many feel a connection to this Draco, and from the words of at least one upset reviewer,  
I know the more somber turns in this piece are not always welcome._

_As the author, however, I strongly feel the need to elucidate on Draco's past so as to more fully explain his reticence toward a deeper more meaningful relationship with Hermione. I also believe such character development brings the opposing emotions of love and happiness into sharper focus._

_This being said, please tread lightly toward the middle of this chapter. I've left the details of the darkness up to the reader's imagination, so, Draco's past is basically as bleak your own imaginings. _

_You've been warned. Well, on with the show…

* * *

_

Draco lands sitting upright on something soft. She is sitting astride his lap. He points his wand and sends an _Incendio!_ at the empty hearth across the room. A split second later, a merry fire glows behind her. He can feel the warmth of it against his knees. Her mouth is still on his and Draco decides that, minus her last alarming statement, all of his future disapparations shall be performed in exactly this way, with Granger's hot little body wrapped around his. Recalling again her last comment, Draco's hands grip her thighs. As much as it pains him, he tears his mouth from hers. Before he'd whisked them away, she'd spoken some disturbing words and he meant to discover her meaning before moving forward with this assignation.

"I _want_ you, Hermione," he repeats meaningfully, his fingers tangling in her tresses, allowing him to angle her face slightly away from his. With his other, hand he gently caresses her face, tracing her swollen lips, moving to the smoothness of her throat. Her eyelids threaten to fall, shielding her vulnerability from his scrutiny. "Hermione!" he says more sharply, tightening his grip on her wavy locks. Her gaze widens. "I _need_ you," he whispers urgently. "Need and want is enough. Sometimes, I think, too much."

"I know that _both_ are enough for _you_," she breathes, her heart breaking with each expressed word. Her lips crane toward his hardening ones, yearning for just one last kiss before he shuts her out completely for daring to suggest anything beyond simple desire between them. "There has to be more, Draco. We can't go on this way. For my sake, for _our_ sakes, I'm asking you for more."

He stills beneath her and she moves again to take his mouth against hers. Purposefully, he moves his face away.

"What do you want from me, Granger?" he asks tightly, his muscles as taught as his tone. His fingers grip her where he'd just been gentle.

She looks at him, thoughtfully taking in the fact that he is straining for control._ Always, control._ Well, it was high time that she took some control herself.

"What is it that you want from _me_, Draco?"

He turns his head to stare at her, the grey tinder in his eyes glinting in the firelight. "I told you, Bookworm, Nothing. I want _nothing_."

"Nothing _but my body,_ it seems," she clarifies this statement with a suggestive movement of her hips against his lap. She frowns when she spies his pupils dilating and hears a soft muffled groan slip from his lips. With him like this, it would be far too easy to throw caution to the wind again. "We can continue on like this, Malfoy, pretending that all of these encounters are just due to…. _pheromones_. But if we do, we'd just be fooling ourselves."

He huffs and she takes a moment to look around the room. A ghost of a smirk plays on her lips. "Honestly, Draco, of all the places to apparate, you pick the Prefect's Office? Are you _trying_ to purge yourself of unwanted memories by superimposing new ones?"

"Stop talking, Hermione," he grumbles, the bother filling his voice. "Stop talking and just do what you should have done on that night we found ourselves alone here."

"You mean when you _assumed_ I would have sex with you _after_ I'd rightfully won your tie? You're so confusing, Malfoy!" she cries exasperatedly. "What exactly are you asking? Am I to simply walk away from you as I did in the corridor? Or am I to _first_ take advantage of your… ahh… _special_ talents _before_ I take my leave? Which one shall it be?"

His scowl deepens and his brooding silence incites her to entangle them in a more heated argument.

"Well, if you don't know the answer, there are other matters that need to be addressed," she says smartly, her hand toying with her wand. "The thing of it is, we've attempted to have sex without strings before and _that_ only complicated matters. Or, perhaps, you don't remember?"

_Only every moment of every blood day_, he thinks bitterly.

"I say we should give sex without strings another go," he suggests grumpily, moving his hands on her again, attempting to distract her. "Having mind-blowing sex with you again might do us _both_ some good."

She smiles inwardly knowing that, considering his vast experience, he'd just paid her quite a compliment. Outwardly, she lets out an annoyed sigh then frowns, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like a spell. His eyes narrow at the wand tip she'd covertly aimed at him.

"What do you want me to say, Granger?" he asks, realizing uncomfortably that she has him pinned beneath her. Her arms and legs trap him so he cannot move. The position he finds himself in triggers an unwanted memory, and Draco finds himself unable to summon the strength to lift her off of him. His heart starts to slam against his rib cage and his breath begins coming in short, shallow gasps. Hermione hasn't yet noticed his extreme discomfort.

"I'm simply waiting for you to admit that there's more to what's between us than..." she moves her hand closer to where he aches but he quite forcefully pulls his hips away from her seeking fingers.

_A warning not to touch_, she realizes, confused. She stops trying to provoke him with her straying hand. "Say whatever you like with that silver tongue of yours, Malfoy. Just don't take too long to say the _right_ words. I know you feel what remains unspoken between us. If you'll just admit we could be something more, I'll release—"

"Get off!" he demands angrily, bucking his lower body against her. She teeters and gasps. He recognizes distantly that he is in a veritable panic when she lifts to her knees to grab onto the back of his neck to keeping herself from falling arse backwards.

"Malfoy?" She angles herself nearer. Hermione's face hovers inches above his before she speaks, "Are you alright?"

"NO!" he roars, straining against what feels like invisible shackles. "Bloody hell, Granger! You've put the binding curse on me! TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF, NOW!"

"That's rich, Draco," she replies with surprising calm, absolutely unaware of the wracking fear that he is fighting to keep at bay. She hops off of him, shaking her head. She turns away, missing how he shudders, as she talks rapidly into the crackling fire.

"Honestly, Draco, you just put the Incarcerous on me a moment ago and I barely protested. Now you're telling me I can't do the same to you? If you're worried about your virtue, I assure you, I have far less lecherous intents than the ones you had for me." She still is staring into the fire, a bit afraid to confront what she assumes is his fury at being bested by her.

"All I want is to keep you from touching me so I can think straight long enough to have a real conversation," she explains. "At some point, Draco, you are going to have to recognize that we're not just two bodies _wanting_ to satisfy our baser needs. There's more to what is between us than the meeting of our genitalia. So, until _a real discussion_ happens, I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

Draco closes his eyes against her know-it-all voice and tries valiantly to summon the inner calm that his healer, Potter, and surprisingly, Weasley, had helped him cultivate these last few months. Hermione's voice, however, is barely a whisper in a wind tunnel. He knows he is losing his fight against paralyzing terror when he is unable to make himself breathe at a regular pace without focusing on inhaling and exhaling.

"_Please_..." The lone word from him is enough to stun her. His forlorn tone has her turning sharply to stare at him. He's lost the fight and now looks pale, helpless… _vulnerable_. "Release me... _Please_… I can't... _I can't..._" his voice trails and his silver eyes are wide, pleading.

"_Malfoy?"_

Alarmed, she rushes to him, speaking her Finite Incantantum as she recovers her former position above him and moving to gather his stillness in her arms. "Draco?" She feels him shaking against her. "Draco. I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

He drops his head heavily into the crook of her neck. His rage over what happened all those years ago had been expended over months in therapy. All that is left is what Draco had wanted to hide from her by keeping away these last few weeks. His cool and reserved upbringing had failed to provide him with adequate tools to healthfully deal with such messy feeling as anguish and shame. All he knew was how to deny and avoid. He'd still been working through such feelings when Wesley and Potter antagonized him at the pub earlier that day. Draco knew he wasn't at all prepared to face Hermione properly— not yet.

Draco breathes in the familiar rose-tipped scent of her. He hadn't thought he could withstand anyone dredging all of this up again, causing him to slip into this hated feeling of despair and helplessness.

His control over his emotions long lost, Draco wraps his arms around the security of her boundless compassion, relishing the feel of her fingers combing through his hair. His breathing evens out as he feels her arms gather him close, anchoring him in a way no other ever has. Unable to meet her searching gaze, he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

"I fear I'm not well, Hermione," he finally admits with a voice so tremulous it is a feathery whisper against her neck. "I... something happened to me during the war that... I..."

Part of Hermione's pre-course work had her listening to and recording accusations made by victims of war against their tormentors. While there had been a great many atrocities she'd experienced first hand, the things Hermione had seen and heard from these people were doubly horrendous. The trauma of merely listening to such terrorizing stories was what had her looking into Magical Law Enforcement and, eventually, working with his mother.

To be honest, Hermione had never imagined Draco affected by war in the way that had befallen some of her fellow fighters of the Light. She assumed his surname alone served better than any _Protego_. But feeling him now, quaking in her embrace, it was clear that having been part of Voldemort's inner circle hadn't made Draco immune to victimization. Belatedly, she realized it made perfect sense that he would have suffered, too, since he had, after all, been in close proximity to some of the worst criminals fresh out of Azkaban during what would have been their Seventh Year.

"Someone imprisoned you," she states simply. After a few moments, he nods feebly. "And now, you can't abide by the binding spell," she adds in a purposefully detached manner. She watches his face screw up with unidentifiable emotion. She moves her hand to smooth the strain between his brows, resting a cool hand at his temple. Recognizing pain in the depths of his stormy gaze, Hermione's concern quickly out shadows her earlier passion. "I do understand, Draco," she whispers, clutching to stoicism because, at least for now, he seems to need her matter-of-factness. "Something unspeakable happened to you that you do not care to think about, much less talk about."

He shuts his eyes to the sight of her. In his mind, she is still innocent to the atrocities of his terrifying experiences. He doesn't want her to discover the ugliness he harbors within.

"Whatever they did to you during your imprisonment, Draco, it's not your fault," she continues. Unable to maintain her attempts at neutrality, she places a soft kiss atop his head as she gently runs an open palm up and down his back. Draco feels his muscles relax under the soothing balm of her touch. "You might not feel this way, but having been where you are now, I wish for you the peace of knowing that you're not the one to blame for what was done to you." Her message is alarming in what it might indicate about her own war stories. But her arms continue to offer him quiet strength and he reasons to himself that his own experience with her negated that sort of abuse and Hermione couldn't possibly know what had been done to him.

"You are a good man, Draco. A very _good_ man."

He shakes his head vehemently.

"It was _war_," she adds quietly. "Whatever it was that happened, you must have allowed it because you were attempting to help someone else. I _know_ you, Draco. Most people aren't able to recognize your strong instinct to protect. It's well-hidden beneath that impenetrable exterior, of yours. But, Malfoy, you do exemplify the most admirable of Slytherin traits. You are clever, resourceful, and determined when you want to be. Whatever happened to you, whatever the unspeakable evil, I've no doubt that you had little choice in your actions, and if you did, you chose to preserve someone else's safety over your own. Dumbledore wasn't far off the mark when it came to his beliefs about you."

Save the late headmaster, no one ever assumed the best in him and no one ever put into words how he felt that godawful day.

_No one. _Not even_ himself._

Intensive therapy was what eventually taught Draco that his instinctual move to put himself between Greyback and Hermione at the Manor had been noble and self-sacrificing. But understanding this intellectually and his unreconciled feelings surrounding that horrific moment of selflessness, were two distinctly different things.

He was still fighting the deep-seeded belief that Fenrir might have been right. Greyback had more than insinuated that it really hadn't been the Mudblood Draco had wanted to save. He'd even suggested that perhaps Draco secretly _wanted_ what had happened each time the foul werewolf had placed the _Incarcerous_ on him.

The untenable terror that Greyback had sadistically planted in his mind, was Draco's most secret fear that he was a masochist, just like his father, who gained a sort of perverse pleasure from such depravity.

He shudders and pulls Hermione closer.

Being held so tenderly in Hermione's arms, Draco finds himself unable to hold onto his mask of dispassion. He fails at fighting back a desperate, frustrated sob from ripping out of his throat.

_The terrifying, confusing words that Greyback used every time he'd_— Draco's thoughts balk at the ghastly memories. He knew the werewolf's words had weakened him, but this knowledge did nothing to heal the interminable shame that came from knowing he'd been a supplicant in the abuse. In the darkness of those days, Fenrir's vile utterances had filled Draco with such doubt and self-condemnation it was a wonder he'd been able to find the courage to warn Goyle and Crabbe off of hurting Harry, Ron and Hermione in the Room of Requirement during the last battle.

"You saved me, you know," Hermione adds, gently calling him away from his torturous thoughts. He startles, wondering exactly how much she'd been told. She smiles gently at his suspicious expression. "From Pansy and her ilk. _Twice_. And had I listened to what you told me under the quidditch stands that day, I would have been safe from _everything_. I'd likely be off somewhere in Australia, right now, with my parents, probably unhappily married with a gaggle of kids. I would have lost my friends. I would have lost _you_. I would have lost _this_..."

Considering Harry's earlier warnings not to demand too much of Draco, she was surprised that the silent Slytherin was now so accepting, in fact craving both her presence and touch.

Years after the war, Hermione had been unable to allow anyone to touch her, save Harry. Only he was allowed a brief embrace. Post-traumatic stress disorder affected Ron, as well. So, between his and her issues, well, the war wrought havoc on more than just the battlefield. Its after effects were yet another reason why she and Ron were never were able to add real physical intimacy to their relationship.

Hermione mused that perhaps Draco allowed himself her comfort because he felt safe with her. She warmed a little at the thought.

"I love you, Draco," she whispers against his ear without thinking, ignoring his body's betrayal of his instant anxiety. "I know you can't say the same. Maybe you don't think yourself capable or worthy of the purity of such a lovely emotion."

She feels his breath quicken against her neck. He remains silent, but he pulls her into a tighter embrace.

"But you are so very worthy of love, Draco. Consider all that you have been through and having survived such horror," she shakes her head as she pulls her face away to quietly regard his carefully guarded expression. "Perhaps, out of all of us, Malfoy, you, most of all, need to be told you are loved."

A gentle smile whispers across her lips. "I know it probably isn't very smart or practical for me to be the first to say the words," she continues, loving the feel of his arms holding her close, for once not pushing her away, "but you need to hear it. You don't have to reciprocate. I don't need that."

He lifts his eyes to look into hers. She cannot move, so touched is she by the expression on his face. He lifts a hand to cup her jaw, his fingers catching a few curling tendrils as he strokes her skin. She sees the love there and her heart swells.

"So, what is the 'more' that you need from me," Draco whispers throatily, his gaze unwavering.

She locks her brown eyes onto the inquiry so apparent in his grey. Draco recognizes the longing within him to capture the soft promises she offers. But he lacks the words to convey his need for the emotional closeness he'd felt with her the last time they'd been intimate.

"Tell me, Hermione," he demands plaintively.

At this heart-wrenching prompting, she twines her fingers into his silky hair. With her other hand, she places an open palm on his steadily beating heart.

"All I want from you is your acceptance of how I feel about you, Draco," she sighs, grabbing onto one of his hands and interlocking her fingers with his. She pulls his palm to her lips and places a kiss there.

"This is _me_, in love with _you_. I will not be pushed away because you don't know how to respond to the strong feelings between us, Draco. I will not leave when you shove me away because you are frightened of the depth of our emotions. I am _yours_. I think I have always been. This childish tug-o-war is _over_."

In response, he drags her hand to his lips, placing a return kiss on her open palm. He still doesn't say a word. His silver eyes shine as he gazes at her, waiting for her to go on.

"I want you to believe that it isn't wrong or stupid of me to love you, Draco," she adds more forcefully. "I most fervently believe that my loving you is perhaps one of the best things I have ever done in the entirety of my life."

Her words arrest his breath.

_What had he done to deserve her? To deserve this?_

Her light touch and the feel of her body atop his makes him light-headed. Despite his overabundance of material wealth, Hermione's honest declaration is the most valuable gift Draco believes he's ever received.

Chagrined that he cannot contain his emotions any longer, Draco's eyes water at the beauty of her pronouncement. He longs to return the sentiment, but is too choked up; physically unable to speak because her vow of love causes an almost painful swelling in his chest.

She smiles knowingly at his continued disquiet. She kisses his eyelids closed to save him from the embarrassment of falling tears.

"Please, Draco, won't you let me love you?" she whispers softly, stroking his face. "Love, let me show you how much."

"Hermione," he breathes, trusting her now to take the lead.

_

* * *

To Issiebee: Feeling a pull at the navel describes the feeling of side-along disapparation._

_To all Muddy reviewers: I'm so thankful for your generosity in sharing your thoughts about this story with me. Happy Reading until the next chapter!_

_...and to my American counterparts, Happy Thanksgiving!_

_~foggy_


	13. To Persuade a Pureblood

_Chapter note: While **To Muddy a Malfoy** follows the trajectory of J.K. Rowlings' Harry Potter novel series, I have referenced here a scene from the movie, Deathly Hallows (Part I, Warner Bros., 2010 ) in which Hermione is tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange._

* * *

Her heart hitches at the sound of her name.

She wants desperately to comfort him, to convince him of his goodness. She only wishes she knew how. She'd always been so awkward about such intimacies. And, honestly, such occasions with other men were far and few between. It is only with _him_... _Draco_, that Hermione finds herself forgetting her self-consciousness. With him, there is always a point to make, a bet to win, or undeniable lust to slake.

But this is no longer a game. It is also no longer an ill-fated attempt to eradicate the suffocating sexual tension between them. Finding herself the initiator, Hermione falters, because even when she'd played at dominance before, she'd always known that Draco had the power to overtake her meager attempts at control.

And what's more, never during their clandestine meetings has she ever felt such an overpowering emotional need to love and protect him as she does at this very moment. This is why Hermione feels so uncertain. Without Draco leading, she has no one to blame for her actions but herself. And she's frightened because _this_ time, _this_ prelude to sex, feels far more intimate than any other she'd experienced with him.

Still straddling his lap, Hermione watches him hang his head, embarrassed by his outward show of emotion. It is this forlorn motion that causes her to toss away incessant worry and allow her heart to lead the way.

"You don't have to hide yourself from me," she assures softly, cradling his angular jaw in the palm of her hand. "I care for the person you've become. You're a better man because of your past." She watches him grimace at her words. "It's just me, Draco," she soothes, her fingertips smoothing away his frown. "I'm just the grown up version of that same insufferable, know-it-all, bushy-haired Mu–"

"DON'T SAY IT," he rasps, his expression pained as his grip tightens on her waist. "I'm sorry I _ever_..." Draco's voice breaks. He is unable to finish. Hearing the agonized apology in his silence, Hermione gently touches a finger to his lips.

She looks down at his slight pout— this mouth, one she'd already kissed. Those times had alternately been fueled by anger, frustration, and lust... but never _love_. At least, not like this. She knows that to touch her lips to his now will bare herself to him in a way that being stripped nude before him had never done.

_Exposure_.

She allows the little light of hope she'd carried for far too long to flare. And before second thoughts take hold, Hermione closes her eyes and leans forward. Though still ridiculously inexperienced, the conviction in her kiss is unmistakable. Draco feels the marked difference in the sweep of her lips and his head sharply lifts. She pulls away slightly, only to look down at him again.

Eyes meet.

The moment etches itself into his memory. He feels the warmth of the merry flames in the grate as they heat the back of his hand, which rests on the gentle curve of her waist. He is lost in a maelstrom of emotion and her tender gaze does little to offer him purchase in the turbulence of the storm. The fire crackles as she tentatively touches his lips with her tongue, tracing their outline, pressing against the seam, before joining her mouth to his again.

He grows very still in her arms. Hermione feels his lips tremble beneath hers and then, with a soft exhalation of breath, he succumbs, opening his mouth with a moan of surrender. Feeling him capitulate to their mutual desires, she more ardently takes advantage of his tentative offering.

He finds himself welcoming the unfamiliar intimacy of her kiss. Hermione's scent and her softness envelop him. Such wiles should be considered Unforgivables, he silently laments, as his arms move to embrace her more closely. Certainly, there is no greater torture than this clawing desperate need for her.

"Draco."

She urges him back into the love seat, which must surely have seen many a heated snogging session between lovesick prefects. His head is pillowed by the chair's cushioned backrest. Her hand traces the contours of his face, starting at his temples, drawing down the strong line of his jaw. She pauses to cup his chin with one hand, pulling down his lower lip with her thumb. Beneath heavy lids, Draco watches her exploration of him. She recognizes his want and spies something else there in his watchful gaze. It is this mysterious emotion that has her reclaiming his mouth, with a desperation to taste him, and to discover the secret he hides within.

Draco moans again, lost, as she, too, loses herself in a kiss that pulls him deeper into the abyss of some yet undefined, slightly terrifying emotion.

Hermione wants to comfort. She wants to give pleasure. More importantly, she wants to give him that which he believes himself undeserving. What frustrates her most is that she is unsure about how to go about doing this properly. Feeling unschooled in something so universal and well... _natural_... is disturbing for _the_ Hermione Granger. Her brows furrow and she works to summon the intrepid girl she'd once been. The one still harboured within; the one who absolutely refuses to accept defeat when challenged.

With unpracticed hands, she reaches out to touch him, placing her palms on his shoulders. Her only motive for this seduction is her simple desire to express love. She kisses Draco's forehead, his cheeks, his eyes, his temples, only to work her way back to his mouth again. All the while, her busy fingers rake through his well-coiffed hair, tugging the strands this way and that so, when at last she draws away, he looks quite thoroughly kissed.

With a little gulp, she holds his unwavering gaze as she slowly releases his shirt buttons from their catches. She slips her fingers beneath the crisp white material to the warmth of his bare skin. She hears his breath hitch and turn ragged. Her lips quirk as she glides her palms up the masculine contours to work his shirt off his shoulders. She bites her lower lip between her teeth, boldly staring at his well-formed, battle-scarred torso. So familiar is the lithe and muscled strength of him. She shifts to trail kisses from the corded length of his neck, working downward, so that she has to slip off his lap to take pleasure in running her hand across his flat abdomen. She feels him shudder as her hands gently glide along his chest as her lips trail after them, leaving no inch of his revealed skin untouched. She is on her knees when her mouth and hands stop their journey at the closure of his trousers. She looks up, sending him a sly smile. Her fingers reach out to touch him.

"Don't," he strangles out, his hands capturing hers before they can go any further. Hermione makes an impatient sound and tugs out of his hold. Ignoring him, her fingers work his trousers open, dipping beneath his waistband and feeling his pulsing want for her. He groans loudly when her greedy fingers wrap around him. His hips arch up, allowing her to pull his offending garments further down. Her hand more fully encircles him and she looks up to watch his reaction as she touches the one part of him that she failed to give close attention to before.

She licks her lips as she runs her tight grip down his length. She glories in his barely suppressed groan. His eyelids do not fall to cover his gaze from hers. Instead, his irises darken and follow her every movement. His mouth falls open and his hands reach out, stopping short of touching her when she teasingly puffs hot air against him. It's as if he remembers, too well, that night long ago and the rules he once had to keep. She, too, recalls some things she'd done to prepare for the what ifs of that evening years ago. Lavender's fellatio lessons come immediately to mind. Hermione smiles, remembering the scandalized, naïve girl she'd been back then.

Draco hasn't stopped watching her and because of this, she deliberately runs her hand up against his length again. He gasps. She smiles. Her face edges closer to his burgeoning desire and he can only gape at the promise of unspeakable pleasure he discovers in her gaze.

"No," he chokes out, his knuckles white as they grip the cushions at his sides.

"Why?" she asks curiously, her attention not on his face, but riveted to the sight of him, rigid in her hand. Hermione never thought she could do this with anyone, but such a sentiment seems far too short-sighted now. With some surprise, she realizes just how much she wants to love him this way.

"Not here," he manages to rasp between panting breaths. Unbidden, his hands inch toward her again.

"Then where?" she inquires, returning her attention to her previous efforts. The soft sound of his muttered oaths interspersed with the rough sound of her name on his lips is a sweet song to Hermione's ears.

"You choose," he manages at last, biting back another guttural moan. "It's your turn."

Though her touch never leaves him, Hermione stops her movements to thoughtfully peer up at him. She fights to clear her head of its desire-filled haze. As lucidity returns, she surmises that her shared flat is not the place for this. Ginny and Lavender would be underfoot. And the prefect office, while sweetly nostalgic, isn't exactly where Hermione wants her first attempts at such lovemaking to occur. She stares at Draco, noticing his intense struggle between pain and ecstasy. Suddenly, she knows. It's the single most appropriate place for her turn at a do-over.

"Your place," she breathes, her hand beginning to pump him again. The up-and-down movement, punctuates her every word. His hips instinctively follow her lead and he loses track of what she says because of the delightful sensations she creates.

"Your bed, Draco," she whispers huskily, "that's where I want us to be this time."

If he is surprised by her request, he does not reveal it. Silently, he nods his agreement. He thinks of his room, his sanctuary. Looking down at Hermione's firm grip on him, Draco wonders if the act of Disapparating and Apparating will ever be the same for him again.

She is the first witch to have ever stepped into his exclusive space, and the only person to be given the privilege of a return visit. Even Zabini has never stepped twice into Draco's most private domain - despite the innumerable times Draco had needed to be awakened from a drunken stupor.

Draco moves his hand to Hermione's upper arms, pulling her against him. The image of his room and his bed, fills Draco's mind as he whispers the spell that will land them there. His fingers clutch onto her forearms, ensuring she will not be lost along the way. They disappear with a pop.

With a bang they land on his bed. Apparation usually causes nausea and disorientation. Why they feel even randier after experiencing the spell may well be a mystery that the two might never uncover.

Whatever the case, Draco is fairly certain he will burst at any moment. Lying beneath her, he savors Hermione's still dressed form against his nearly naked self. His shirt lies open, his trousers and shorts are bunched at his ankles. Her fingers are still on him and she lifts a bare calf to rub against his leg. Rising on an elbow, her unbound tresses graze his shoulder and she sends him a look that is a tender caress.

The intensity of her gaze is fascinating. Too soon, she drops her eyes and her head follows suit. With her mouth, she traces the contours of his torso, leaving a wet trail from his jaw, down his throat, to the hollow of his neck, around his flat areola, and down the center of his toned abdomen. Her nose nuzzles at his navel, her breath stirs the coarse trail of blond that leads to where her hand still holds the hardened heat of him. She adjusts so she is kneeling between his legs. Alarms ring in Draco's head as he attempts to urge her back up, distressed that she might bestow such a selfless, intimate act on his undeserving self.

This submissive role is new for him, the required trust in another— frightening. He fears his need for Hermione is a weakness from which he will never recover. His mind balks as she inches her head lower. Desperately, Draco tries to dismiss all that had been done to him, reminding himself that _this_ time, _this_ witch, is nothing like the nightmarish hell from which he still desires Obliviation.

Draco squirms at being the one without control. Since the war, sex for Draco is a simple necessity due his gender. The act itself, always a selfish one. And for him, satisfying such masculine desires is very often a business transaction. Cold. Unfeeling. Without entanglements. His inherent distrust of others does not abate in the bedroom, in fact, it grows far worse behind closed doors. So profound is his distress, that the employ of a reliable and healthy escort is far preferable to a likely gold-digger or unwed witch. His sexual preference is to accomplish the task quickly and with a willingly bound partner. In this way, he is able to control how much they are allowed to touch him. Usually, these women are _never_ allowed to touch and he takes great pains to ensure each one looks _nothing_ like her.

Draco is unable to remember having ever bothered to consider any of those faceless witches' needs. There had, however, been _one_ exception. Just _one_ night and with only _one_ witch.

"Hermione."

Innocently, she looks up at him. He instantly stops his hands from seeking her. Her mouth, he sees, is so very close to the raging evidence of his desire. The heat of her breath, gathers moistness on the tip of him, inducing insanity. And if this is not enough, Draco is further startled to witness the truth in her eyes. Hungry desire... a mischievous curiosity... and then, there, _love_.

His heart stutters at the last thought.

Though Draco might not have felt the true essence of such an emotion, he is relieved to be able to have recognized it. The heart-wrenching emotion shines so brightly from her that it steals his breath away. This epiphany strikes just as the wet heat of her mouth dares to take in the tip of his pulsing desire. He forces himself to stop his hips from instinctively thrusting forward. His jaw clenches and he lets out a distressed whimper. Concern and worry has Hermione swiftly removing her lips from around him and he groans his frustration.

"Are you alright?" Under any other circumstance, her alarmed query would have had him chuckling. "Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?"

He vehemently shakes his head no, because for the life of him he cannot speak coherently. Realizing what she's doing to him, she smirks a little before returning to her former distraction. With her tongue Hermione loves him with eager and tender adoration. Taking her time, she tastes him, laving him from root to tip. Her lips pause to suck as her other hand grips and twists his length in a maddening counter-rhythm that has him thrashing his head back and forth on the pillow. Gathering strength from his legendary Malfoy self-control, Draco stops moving just long enough to raise his head to watch Hermione bestow her thorough devotion to her task. A happy purr in her throat adds a delicious vibration to all her careful ministrations, nearly shoving him over the edge.

"Merlin, Granger," he gasps brokenly. "_Please_..."

"Please, what?" she asks absently, the movement of her lips on him adding another layer of sensation against the part of Draco's anatomy that so desperately wants to be deeply buried inside of her while he ravishes that naughty mouth of hers for bringing him to such perilous heights of pleasure.

"Come here, Hermione," he breathes. "_Please_."

A sultry smile slides onto her full lips. At the sight of her pleased expression, he smothers another groan. The witch is sure to be the death of him. True to her bookworm nature, her ability to learn and excel in matters previously foreign to her has Draco at her mercy. In so little time, she's already discovered how embarrassingly responsive he is to her touch.

Her fingers leave him as she lifts up to kneeling. Her gaze falls to where he still stands at full mast, the head of his rod bobbing toward her. She grins at her handiwork as she impatiently pulls her summer dress over her head, throwing it to the foot of the bed. Pulling her wand from her thigh holster, she swiftly charms it and her knickers off. Without a moments hesitation, she does the same to the rumpled garments Draco still sports. They fly to join the ones he'd already managed to kick off. Time stops as Draco takes in the magnificent, luscious sight of her above him. Greedily, she sweeps her hands up the front of his thighs.

His eyes threaten to close.

"Look at me, Draco," she whispers as she glides her front against his. With her elbows above his shoulders, she can feel his desire pulsing against her and suddenly she most desperately wants him to be a part of her. Purposefully, she turns to look to the space next to his head. She stares directly at his left forearm, where a fading scar remains. The despised Dark Mark. She feels him flinch when he realizes what has caught her attention. He tries to hide it from her view. Draco stops his attempts at a wandless glamour charm with a cry of dismay when she carefully places her palm over the hated skull and snake tattoo.

Unbearable is the slowness with which she slides her own left forearm up to his. On hers, he sees the fading scar of a single, vile word, once cruelly etched into Hermione's skin by his equally vile aunt. Disturbed to his depths, Draco attempts to resist this touch, tries to pull out of her grasp. But Hermione's hand reaches out, intertwining her fingers with his. With eyes now trained on his face, Hermione moves her other hand to position him at her entrance.

"We are each so much more than what others believed us to be, Draco," she whispers against his tightening jaw. Draco stares at her arm. It hovers a hairsbreadth away from his. "We've found ourselves since we were each marked. We've each found strength on our own. But together, Draco... together we can heal the wounds of our past."

Draco feels her marred skin touch upon his, just as he feels her body welcoming him in.

"I don't blame you for what happened to us," she assures him as her lips move against his. "It's you, Draco, who needs to stop blaming yourself for what neither one of us can change."

A sob catches in his throat. The dichotomy of the erotic pleasure of her impaling herself on him combining with the aching regret brought on by the sight of their dark scars is a lethal cocktail that leaves him gasping for air.

The onslaught of emotion washes over him as she starts to move. He fears he might drown, but Draco feels Hermione's other arm wrap around him, offering him her strength, holding him to her. Without a word, her body speaks to him of unconditional forgiveness and makes good on her promise to accept the man he has become. Draco wonders at the unbelievable friction she creates with each embolden stroke of her body against his. He feels the glorious pre-orgasmic waves of sensation take hold and his thoughts are filled only of her.

Ecstasy.

The word is inadequate. Words escape Draco as he feels their scars rub against one another, as though trying furiously to erase the marks on their skin that had left each less than whole. With his other hand, he strokes his palm up and down the smooth curve of her back. He keeps her close as she spurns them forward. She purrs contentedly at his touch as she discovers a more lustful rhythm that pleases them both. Her lips move more confidently against his, greedily swallowing the agonized sounds he utters. Perspiration glistens on her skin, the droplets lubricate the space between their bodies, allowing her to glide back and forth against his flat, hard planes.

Her eyes smile tenderly into his, the pleasure and care for him clear in their depths. Her fingers grip his own more tightly, just as the rest of her muscles clench around him. The feel of her milking him is enough to send him whirling off the edge. With one arm, he clutches onto her, anchoring himself as they fly off the precipice together. He hears a shout, barely registering it as his own. At last, Draco calms. His head is swimming when her lips move to touch the sensitive whorls of his ear.

"I love you, Draco," she whispers.

His heart clenches. Scarcely can he breathe. Draco's gaze swings to meets hers and despite how desperately she tries to hide it, he spies the light of expectation shining there. He shuts his own eyelidds, bidding the response she wishes to fall from his lips. When the words fail to emerge, Draco immerses himself in the incredibly intimate connection she'd forged with him. Alarmed, he feels her start to pull away, but this time, he discovers the courage to curl his hand around her wrist, urging her back against him.

"Stay, Hermione," he entreats.

Though not quite the endearment she wishes to hear, his heartfelt request has her relaxing into his embrace. Stroking her hair, he feels his heart slow after his earth-shattering release. He smiles as she nestles her back more securely against his front. After awhile, her breathing slows and soon he feels the full weight of her fall against him, tired, and sated. Holding the witch in his arms, Draco suddenly sees how Hermione had long ago cast an enchantment that would eventually have him falling head over heels in love with her.

And just as any wizard worth his wand is aware, Draco knows that such a love spell is neither one coerced by magical potion, nor cast by any sorcerer's wand.

The ancient magic of true love simply doesn't work that way.

He watches her in repose, awed by how beautiful she'd become in his eyes. Draco silently lifts up on an elbow to place a tender kiss on her cheek. Only when he sees that she does not stir, does he gathers her up close and allow himself to rest.

* * *

_**Author's note:** I thank you all for returning to Muddy. This muse is a difficult one to corral and I lost my grammar-only beta. (If you'd like to offer your services, please PM me!) Nevertheless, I am well pleased with this update and hope you are, too._

_If you need more dramione fanfics between now and my next update. I have some that I've been too lazy to upload here... or if you dare to tread off the dramione ship onto others, (Neville/Hermione anyone?) come visit my tumblr: **foggybythebay**[dot]**tumblr**[dot]**com. **_

_Direct links to my story archive pages on tumblr can be found on my profile. Hope to see you there!_

_Thanks to dreamsofatruedreamer for introducing me to this beautiful new addiction._

_As always, happy reading!_

_~foggybythebay_

_p.s. ...and for those of you awaiting Dilemma's next update, my new chapter is currently with that story's beta! Good times! _


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